The Edge of Madness
by Dawn N
Summary: Sam pays a high price after facing off with the Demon, and Dean refuses to lose the last of his family. He is determined to help Sam find his way back. Now Complete!
1. The Edge of Madness

Disclaimer: The characters of Supernatural were created by Eric Kripke and are owned by the CW Network. No profit is being made.

**NOTE TO READERS:** Well, here we go again, another chapter story. I'm not sure how long this one will be, so I'll play it by ear. This story may require some patience as it develops. There will be angst, but at the start the boys are in their own separate yet together (sort of) angst. I think you'll understand once you begin to read. And, just a small head's up you can expect to see Ellen and some of the other Roadhouse crew, but they won't own the story, so fans that don't like the girls, I think you can still stomach the story. And, there will be NO Dean/Jo relationship happening: friends, yeah, lovers, no way. Let me know what you think. Enjoy, I hope.

**Chapter One**

**The Edge of Madness**

By Dawn Nyberg

"…_The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven…"_ John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

Dean pulled into the visitor parking lot of the Stillwater Center and turned off the car. He let out a long sigh and stared at the building. Its outward appearance was far from imposing; in fact, for the most part it looked rather quaint with its manicured lawns and scrubs. The grounds were dotted with colorful flowers and even a fountain. But, the truth of the situation always landed like a lead rock in Dean's stomach and this place just might as well be the hotel from the _Shining_ because it filled him with just as much dread as that movie did. Dean leaned forward and dropped his forehead down onto his arm that he splayed across the steering wheel as his mind recollected a few short months ago and why he was here on the outside in a parking lot and Sammy was inside.

**Eight Months Earlier**

"There's got to be another way Sammy," Dean agonized as the crescendo of howling and chaos began to rattle his sternum in his chest. They had discovered another way to get rid of the demon; it wouldn't kill him, but banish him for a very long time. It had taken two years to locate a means to face the demon, but now the moment was here. An ancient ritual where every millennia a champion is chosen to confront a great evil. The demon's army of psychic's he had turned would wage his war, but only if he were here and controlling them. The ritual was a mental conflict between the light and the dark and it was a battle only Sam could do.

"I have to do this Dean there isn't another way. If I don't, all the children still to be born like me will suffer. I can stop it. I can prevent the war. I can send the demon back to a place so deep in hell it'll take him a millennium to crawl his way back to the light."

"And, then what?" Dean spat.

"And, then it will be someone else's turn," Sam replied with a look of peace.

"No, there has to be another way," Dean barked.

"There isn't. I have to do this," Sam looked hard and long at his brother.

"Sammy, no," Dean begged. "What difference does it make? Evil will still exist."

"Yeah, but it'll be down one less sonofabitch at least for a while," Sam quipped with a slight smile. "Dean you gotta let me go. You have to let me do this."

Dean's memories clouded a bit when he thought of the actual confrontation between Sam and the Demon. They had simply looked at one another, but there had been a clear communication happening between them … unspoken. The demon tried to infiltrate and spoil Sam's mind. Sam resisted and accepted all at once, and in that delicate dance Dean remembers witnessing the pain on the demon's face. He was seeing a chink in the armor occurring and it was Sammy causing it, and the price Dean knew far too well, but refused to accept. Sam began an almost meditative trance as he began speaking a series of mantra's he had learned from an ancient text: "I have become one with everything," the demon hissed, but tried to push into Sam's mind again. To own him. To break him."I have become one with you." Sam reasserted."I become everything." Dean remembers seeing the sheen of sweat on his little brother's tired and pained face, but his brother remained steadfast as the demon tried to whittle into Sam's soul once again.

Sam repeated the beginning of the mantra once again before continuing: "I have become one with everything. I have become one with you," he took a step toward the demon, as if, declaring this would end now, tonight, "I become everything." The demon hissed and tried to push into Sam's mind breaking his resolve. Sam's eyes narrowed and he spoke: "Therefore, I become nothing. Therefore, you are nothing," the demon focused on Sam and his face twisted in pain. His brain felt as though a hot poker was digging around in his grey matter peeling and twisting the layers. He grunted and continued: "Without my anger you have no substance. Without my pride you have no form."

There was a howling hot wind that reeked of sulfur and the demon spoke, "You won't win! You have no power. You'll lose yourself. I will win." he hissed. Sam leveled his gaze on the demon and smiled as he finished the mantra.

"Without my hate you have no being," Sam panted out as he felt his mind slip into an abyss within himself. The demon let out a loud scream as he dissolved into a black swirling mist disappearing into a hot vortex of fire. Hell had reclaimed one of its own. Dean had looked up after the cacophony of noise and light had died down and when it was all over his eyes fell on his little brother. Sam's body lay curled on its side in a fetal position rocking. His eyes were vacant and his mind broken and trapped within himself. Dean gathered his brother into his arms, "It's okay Sammy," Dean cooed. "I got ya little brother," he assured. "I got ya." He held Sam close trying to soothe him as if he were five years old, and as much as he hoped his words of comfort were reaching his brother in the abyss of his own mind he knew they weren't, and that shattered him. Both brothers were broken in their own ways.

**Eight Months Later, Present Time**

Dean pulled himself from his memories. He stepped out of the car and headed into the building. Ellen had suggested Dr. Marcus Winters, a psychiatrist and former hunter she knew through her deceased husband William. She thought if anyone could help Sam it would be him and he knew about the supernatural and he would be someone Dean could confide in and not worry about being locked up himself for talking about demons and the like.

"Hi Dean," Kendra, a unit nurse on Sam's floor replied from the nurses station.

"Hi Kendra," Dean offered a mild smile. "How's Sam today?"

"He had a good night," she assured. Dean felt a slight sense of relief over that simple statement. Sam's last outburst of combativeness had landed him in restraints. "He's in the sunroom right now with Dr. Winters."

"Thanks," Dean replied as he was buzzed through the unit's security door. He walked into the sunroom that was used as an activities room. Dean often found other patients doing puzzles, finger painting and other activities. He saw Dr. Winters sitting with Sam in a corner speaking to him. Sam just stared off out the window. He didn't speak. He never spoke not since that night eight months ago. Dean hated that the windows were covered with metal grids; in fact, all the windows in this unit were covered with metal grids in order to protect them from patients breaking them and to protect the patients from leaping out of them. He hated that his little brother was in a unit for profound psychiatric problems. The staff simply called it the 'Acute Unit.'

"Hi Dean," Dr. Winters said with a smile. "I was just talking to Sam." Dean offered the doctor a quick hand shake, but his eyes only briefly acknowledged the man while his eyes gave his brother an appraising look.

"Any change?" Dean's voice was hopeful.

"No afraid not." The doctor paused. "Dean I need to discuss something with you."

"What?" Dean asked as he walked over and touched Sam's face and pushed his hair back gently. "Hey Sammy," his voice was soft.

"As you know Sam normally is fed by the staff and until the last couple days we haven't had problems, but he's recently decided to refuse the hand feeding."

"Okay," Dean now turned his eyes to the doctor. "Does he want to do it himself?" He felt a little excited at the prospect. His little brother had been so withdrawn that he didn't even feed himself, but would chew and swallow if fed. He could be coaxed from one room to another led like a child, but he never acknowledged anyone, not really. Sammy wasn't here anymore and that made Dean ache.

"No," the Dr. Winters began. "Sam still remains in his profound disassociated type of atypical catatonia. I want to discuss the possible use of a nasal feeding tube should he continue to resist feeding."

"He pulls out his IV's," Dean started. "What makes you think he's not going to yank this too?"

"That was in the beginning, Dean. He hasn't had any real problems with the IV port since. And, the nasal tube shouldn't pose a problem. But, I'll need your consent for the feeding tube should it become necessary. And, should we have to use an NG tube it can be easily removed should he start accepting the hand feeding again. It's not permanent."

"Can I try to get him to eat before I sign the consent paper?"

"Sure, I'll have Maggie bring in some apple sauce and we'll try that."

"Okay, but none of that chunky brand," Dean replied. "Sam doesn't like the apple chunks." The doctor smiled.

"Smooth it is. I'll be back in a moment." Dean glanced at the doctor and nodded.

"I'll be with my brother." Dr. Winters nodded. Dean turned his eyes back to his sibling. Sam's chestnut bangs hung low and Dean found his hand trying to tame the disheveled mop of hair on his kid brother. "So, what's this I hear about you not wanting to eat kiddo?" Dean's tone remained light as he touched Sam's cheek. "You don't want a feeding tube Sammy," Dean spoke gently. "So you gotta eat, okay?"

Sam wandered around an empty house. He had woken up there and couldn't remember how or why he was there. The windows and doors to the outside wouldn't open and he had stopped trying. There was no furniture at first, but it seemed the longer he stayed and wandered around that each day something would appear. He never questioned why or how. The first object had been a single chair and now he had a bed, chair, table and a book, but the pages were all blank. He liked flipping the pages and feeling them under his fingers. There was a distant feeling that kindled in him, as if this was a familiar habit of his, but he couldn't remember. He found himself looking out the windows and there was only a dark wasteland that he could see. But, in the distance he could almost make out a dim light from a distant horizon. He felt like the light wasn't far away if he could only reach it, and sometimes he heard a voice and it called him _Sammy_. He wasn't sure who he was or where he was, but there was something safe and warm in that one word. The voice was and wasn't familiar, but he found himself drawn to it when he heard it and it shed light into the darkness outside his windows.

"Come on Sammy try," Dean coaxed as he lifted the spoon with applesauce to his brother's mouth trying to gain access. Sam would open sometimes, but push the applesauce back out refusing to swallow. Dean dabbed a moist washcloth under his little brother's chin to clean the food away as it spilled over his lips and down his chin. "Please, Sammy," Dean's voice pleaded. "Just a spoonful, okay? We'll start small."

_Please Sammy … just a spoonful …_

There was that voice again and that word _Sammy_ and the voice wanted him to do something. His hand absently went to his lips brushing away a ghosting presence at his mouth, but there was nothing there.

"Please, Sammy," Dean encouraged. "Try. You need to eat."

_Please Sammy …you need to eat …_

And there was that voice again and some part of him registered that the presence at his mouth meant something and he complied. There was a cool sweetness in his mouth and he swallowed. "That's my boy," Dean cooed. "Let's try another Sammy. You can do it. Let's try to finish this cup, okay." And, Sam complied.

"Well, you definitely have a way with him," Dr. Winters replied. "It looks like we may be able to hold off on the feeding tube. You think you can get some more food into him?" Dean smiled.

"Yeah, what do you have?"

"Well, maybe solids aren't safe yet. He could choke if he resists swallowing at the last second. We'll stick with soft foods. How about some chicken broth soup and we'll try a few small crackers soaked in the soup?"

"Sounds good." Dean replied.

**Three Hours Later**

Dean had walked Sam back to his room and sat with him. He had washed Sam's hair, combed and dried it. "I really think you need a haircut Sammy," Dean suggested. "But, I know you'd kick my ass," he offered with a bit of humor. "You did real good Sammy with your lunch, so you better not give Kendra a hard time with your dinner okay?" Dean studied his brother's expressionless face. He missed his brother's soulful eyes. They always spoke volumes to him. And, now they were blank and he didn't see his brother there anymore. "I'm not gonna give up on you Sammy," Dean spoke firmly, but with affection. "You're going to find your way back. Sammy? It's Dean, your big brother, you hear me? I'm not going to give up on you … never."

_Sammy …find your way back … It's Dean …your big brother…you hear me?_

Words filtered into Sam's world, but still they had no real context and the light was still so very far away. His mind would drift and he'd forget again, but that voice and the word _Sammy_ always helped him to focus at least for a little while. _Big Brother_, part of him knew those two words meant something important and the word _Dean_, it made him feel warm and safe just like _Sammy_ did, but the light was fading in the distance as it always did and soon he'd be in the dark again.

"I gotta go now Sammy," Dean replied softly. He pushed his brother's bangs back and kissed his little brother on the top of his head. "I'll visit again tomorrow afternoon, okay? I hate to leave you, but I have too. I'll see you tomorrow, I promise. "Night Sammy, bye."

_Gotta go now Sammy …'Night Sammy, bye…_

And, then the light was gone once again.

**To Be Continued**

**Well, let me know what you think. Again, I'm not sure how long this chapter story will end up being, but I'll just have to see how it goes.**

**READ and REVIEW!**


	2. Under the Night

Disclaimer: refer to chapter one

**NOTE TO READERS: **Well, I was happy to read all of the positive reviews and comments concerning chapter one. I hope you continue to enjoy the story as it develops. Thanks again for taking the time to read and review. I was pleasantly surprised at how many of you that did leave your comments really enjoyed it. I'm just glad that FFnet is finally back and sending alerts, etc. I've been sitting on this one for a couple weeks. In fact, I've gotten a little ahead, so I may be able to post a little faster, but not too fast. I don't want to make you wait too long between updates or at least I'll make an effort not to make you wait. Thanks!

**Chapter Two **

**Under the Night**

By Dawn Nyberg

"Dean, hey hun can you help me with this?" Ellen called over her shoulder from her vantage point on the ladder. Dean turned from wiping down the far end of the counter at the bar. He hadn't even noticed she was up on a ladder. His mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of Sam.

"Huh? Oh yeah, here," Dean sounded irritated. "You should have let me do that anyway. You don't need to be climbing around on ladders."

"Hey, mind your tongue," she scolded. "I'm not some old lady that's gonna break a hip. Here," she grunted as she handed down a cardboard filing box from the crawlspace in the ceiling near the main bar area.

"Sorry," he offered quietly. "I didn't mean anything by it." Ellen smiled softly.

"I know sweetie. No worries. You thinkin' about Sam?"

"Always," Dean answered bluntly. "I just want him back Ellen. Maybe I could try having him here again. It might help." Ellen offered an understanding smile.

"Dean, honey, you remember the last time in the beginning before he went to Stillwater when you brought him here after," she paused. "I know you want him with you, but I think he's in the right place Dean and Marcus can help him or at least do his best to try." Dean offered Ellen a begrudged nod. She was right. He remembered with a shiver the third night here at the roadhouse after the confrontation with the demon. He remembered the blood and Sammy. He swallowed down the bile that crept up his throat at the memory, but the memory came anyway.

**Eight Months Earlier, the Roadhouse**

Sam hadn't spoken and Dean still tried to coax his brother into the world around him. He had bundled Sam into the Impala and drove to the roadhouse only stopping for gas. He would get Sam to drink water, but he mostly slept. They had been at the roadhouse for three days as Dean tried to nurse Sam back to world with no luck. He could tell by looking into his little brothers eyes that there was a clear disconnect and that the light was gone from his dark eyes. Dean woke early and turned to check on Sam. It was an automatic response to immediately check on his brother. Sam had been sleeping most of the time or preferred being curled up and rocking himself. His absent eyes never met anyone's. Dean shot up from his bed as he quickly saw that Sam wasn't in the bed next to him. "Sammy?" Dean's voice was thick with a controlled panic. He didn't have to look far. He found Sam huddled in a corner on his knees rocking as he wrote on the wall. Dean noticed the red looking paint on the wall his mind not processing the truth. And, then he saw the hunting knife, his own hunting knife discarded beside his little brother … the blade bore the trances of coagulating blood. Dean watched Sam for a moment still frozen. He watched Sam rub the fingers of his right hand into the palm of his left and come up thick with blood and continue to write on the wall.

"Oh Christ Sammy," Dean blurted as he ran to his brother. He took Sam's left hand in both of his. "Shit," he hissed. "What have you done to yourself Sammy." Dean grabbed a t-shirt he had slung over a chair and wrapped his brother's hand in it. "You're going to need stitches," he admonished.

It wasn't until later after he had cleaned and sewn his brother's hand that he had looked at the wall to see what Sam had been doing, and it was then that he knew his little brother needed help he couldn't provide. The wall bore pictures of sigils and random gibberish. He cast a scared glance toward his sleeping brother. "I'm sorry," was all he could whisper as he allowed himself to cry. A hand on Dean's shoulder pulled him into the present and away from his haunting memories.

**The Roadhouse, present time**

"Dean? You okay?" Ellen asked with a concerned face.

"Huh? Yeah, I was just…" his voice trailed off. "You're right about … well, you know."

"I wish I weren't if that helps at all," her voice was sincere. "And, hey, at least the Center is only a twenty minute drive from here." Dean simply nodded. He hoped it was a busy night in the bar to keep his mind off his little brother, at least for a little while.

**The Stillwater Center, Sam's Room**

Sam's body lay curled on his side gently rocking with his eyes staring at the wall. Kendra unlocked Sam's door and walked in. "Hi Sam, it's Kendra. I just wanted to make sure you're situated for the night." She smiled at the young man. "I have to give you your medication for the night, okay? It won't hurt." She gently took Sam's left hand and inserted a syringe into his IV port. "There you go," she cooed. "You know if you'd just take your meds by mouth all the time we could get rid of this thing," she replied softly as she tapped his hand gently as she referred to the port. Sam's med taking had been hit and miss. When they could they would crush some of his meds in his food, but the evening meds came long after dinner was over, and there wasn't much choice. She pulled his blanket up over his shoulders and made sure the bed rails were up and locked into position. "Okay, you're all set. Sleep tight Sam. Sweet dreams." She ran a hand gently across his forehead and through his hair a couple times and watched as his eyes slid closed. She smiled. This simple action always seemed to work and had become their nightly bedtime routine. She hoped it would be a good night for him.

Sam hated this empty house. The white-grey walls seemed to stretch forever. The only light seemed to come from what he thought was the moon, but looking out the windows there wasn't much to see. He missed the distant light that came with the voice and the word Sammy. He felt warm when he heard the voice. He hated the stretching vastness outside the window. It was almost as if he were dropped in the middle of vast desert and nothing lived outside this house. He would stare at a dead tree not far away and there was something disconcerting about the knobby barren appearance of it and he felt fear when he looked at it too long. But there was something familiar about it, too. But, in his head he always saw it with leaves and was full and green. He could visualize a brief mental picture of a snapshot a little boy, a blonde haired woman, a man with a gentle smile and baby, but the mental picture always dissolved away like sand through fingers before he could fully grasp it or what it meant.

_You know what? I'm going to be the one to bury you … you're a selfish bastard…_

He covered his ears trying to block the words. He hated the voices and their words that came when the light was gone. Some nights were worse than others. He huddled in a corner trying and failing to block the disjointed voices as they echoed in the emptiness of the house.

…_That's right Sam … you left … your brother and I we needed you … and you left…_

…_You're the one that told me if I left…not to come back… you closed that door, not me… you were just pissed off because you couldn't control me anymore…_

…_As long as I'm around nothing bad is gonna happen to you…_

…_Dean, we are a family…I'd do anything for you, but it's never going to be like it was…_

…_could be…_

…_I don't want it to be…_

…_That demon killed your mother, killed your girlfriend…_

…_Your son is dying and you're worried about the Colt…_

… _Can we not fight …most of the time I don't even know what we're fighting about … just butting heads…_

…_Dad are you okay?..._

… _Shoot me in the heart son … Do this Sammy…_

…_Sam, no…_

… _Time of death 10:41 Am…_

Sam covered his ears tightly, but he did what he always had to do when the voices were too loud, too many, and the chaos threatened to crush him … he screamed.

Kendra and a resident unlocked the door as two orderlies filed into Sam's room. He was screaming and thrashing in his bed. A single hand gripped the metal bed side rail and yanked on it violently. Dr. Levin, the night shift resident looked through Sam's chart while the orderlies began to put restraints on Sam. "Okay, keep his arm still," he instructed.

"You want the Haldol, right?" Kendra asked. "He's allergic to the Thorazine."

"Yeah, 5 cc injection ought to do it." Dr. Levin answered briskly. "Damn this kid is strong," he muttered as the orderlies pinned Sam's arm so the doctor could inject the syringes contents into his shoulder. Kendra and the doctor both watched as Sam began to calm down and the ear piercing screaming stopped. "Put him on some telemetry over night," the doctor began. "You know … the standard … heart rate and oxygen monitors until the Haldol wears off and he wakes up."

"No problem." Kendra made sure Sam's four point restraints weren't too tight and covered him back up. "Oh Sam," she whispered to a now empty room except for her and her young charge. She hated his screams. They were primal and fear filled and there was nothing that would soothe him except drugs that lull him into a mindless, dreamless, stupor. "Rest well," she whispered and left the room.

The voices were quiet now, and Sam felt the warm void consuming him and in that void was a blissful peace … peace from this empty house, his confusion, and the voices that seemed familiar, yet remained lost in meaning … and he welcomed the complete oblivion that swallowed him into a nothingness, and he slept.

**To Be Continued**

**This chapter was a little bit shorter, but I hope you liked it. Thanks in advance for comments and reviews. I appreciate hearing from you, but if you don't review that's okay too. I just hope you're enjoying the story!**


	3. Between No Place and Nowhere

Disclaimer: refer to chapter one

**NOTE TO READERS: **Thanks as always for taking the time to read and review. It's appreciated. I have replied back to everyone who supplied me a way to contact you with a thank you. But, I wanted to make sure to say thanks to those leaving comments and reviews that leave no means of contacting you directly. I'm pleased that so many readers have liked the first two updates. So, thanks in advance for any other reviews or comments you decide to leave, but if you don't that's fine too! I just hope you enjoy the story.

**Chapter Three**

**Between No Place and Nowhere**

By Dawn Nyberg

**The Stillwater Center: The Next Day**

It was late afternoon when Dean arrived at the center to visit Sam. He approached the nurse's station and saw the familiar faces of the incoming evening crew with the outgoing day crew. "Dean," Jennifer spoke over the top of a computer screen. "Um, Dr. Winters wanted to see you in his office before you saw Sam today."

"Is he okay?" Dean couldn't suppress his big brother alert mode.

"Yes, but he had a rough night," she said with a compassioned smile. Dean knew what that meant. Sam was likely drugged and restrained.

"Is the doc in his office now?"

"Yes," Jennifer answered. "Go ahead to his office. I'll call him and let him know you're on your way."

"Thanks."

Dean walked down a hallway of various office doors. This particular part of the hospital was called the 'Clinical Wing' and housed most of the staff doctor's offices and the outpatient counseling center. He came to the dark chocolate colored door and knocked just below the brass name plate: Suite 210, Dr. Marcus Winters, M.D., Chief of Psychiatry. A muffled voice called out from the closed door. "Come in." Dean opened the door and the doctor met eyes with him and smiled. He motioned that he'd be just a minute as he finished his phone call. Dean nodded and took a seat across from the doctor. The phone call ended and Dean raised his eyes once again to meet Dr. Winters.

"So, Jennifer tells me you know about Sam's night?"

"Yeah, is he still out?"

"He's groggy, but he's been combative most of the morning, so he's been given a mild sedative and as I'm sure you already know he's been restrained to prevent himself from self injury."

"What set him off?" Dean hated that some nights his brother was fine, but more times than not he would have these horrible bouts of screaming and violence. He had witnessed an episode once when he visited and Sam was sleeping in the afternoon. It had scared him to the core.

"His mind," Dr. Winters answered bluntly. "I'd like to do a sleep study on Sam to study his brain activity while he's sleeping, and maybe we'll catch an episode."

"So, he's in there somewhere?"

"His brain isn't damaged in the sense you're thinking Dean. He's just pulled so far into himself that he's become lost. The outside world doesn't exist to him, but I feel that inside his mind he is somewhere, but where I haven't a clue. However, something is triggering him to react the way he does. He doesn't speak or verbalize at all when awake, but asleep when he is triggered he has as you're well aware frequently makes noises, screams and acts out."

"It's been eight months doc and he hasn't gotten better … not even a little. I mean we bounce between he'll eat and he won't, but he doesn't acknowledge me or you, or anyone for that matter. He won't feed or bathe himself, and he lets you lead him from room to room like a pet … it's like he has no will of his own. My brother isn't in there when I look at him. I just want him back."

"Dean, I know you're frustrated, but we've also discussed that whatever occurred when he faced," the doctor lowered his voice even despite the door being closed. "When he faced the demon his mind has incurred a horrible trauma. You told me about this ritual and that it spoke about a waking death of the mind as the price for completing it. You said that Sam was fully conscious while facing the demon and it wasn't until after he completed the ritual and banished the demon that he slipped away. He knew the consequences Dean and that his price would be his mind, but I'm going to do everything to help him. Look this type of trauma isn't in the textbooks, but I'm addressing the symptoms and disorders as I would for any other patient although the cause of his current state is vastly different than other patients." Dean nodded. "And, it's possible that Sam may never find his way back, but I'm not quitting."

"I just want to see him," Dean sighed as he ran a hand across his eyes. "This sleep study," Dean began. "It's not painful is it?"

"No, it's just electrodes and monitors. Nothing painful. He'll be restrained and we'll let him fall asleep on his own as usual. There will be a digital recording of his brain activity and the monitors will keep track of his heart rate and breathing."

"Fine, do what you have to," Dean commented. "I just want my brother back."

"I know you do," Dr. Winters commiserated. "I'll go over any findings with you tomorrow when you come to visit."

"What if he doesn't have an episode tonight?"

"Then we'll keep doing the studies each night until he does."

"If he does have one tonight," Dean began. "How long are you going to let him carry on? I don't want him put through extra trauma."

"I understand. It won't be aloud to go beyond three to five minutes. He'll be restrained and every effort made to insure he doesn't hurt himself when he becomes combative." Dean nodded.

**Meanwhile, Sam's Room**

Sam drifted in this foggy serene feeling. He was in the house again, but he still felt the quiet pull of oblivion on his body and he floated. He heard a voice caressing him, one he hadn't heard before, but it sounded tender, and again familiar. He wondered if one voice was his own, and part of him knew it was.

…_Sam get a move on…_

…_Do we have to go…_

…_It'll be fun …_

…_What would I do with out you…_

…_Crash and burn…_

He felt a warm sensation stroke his mouth; a palpable memory reminded him of a kiss that he felt he should remember who and where, but again the details eluded him, but nevertheless he felt the warm safeness of the action and he allowed himself to be pulled further into the oblivion and away from the confines of this empty house and he slept once again.

**One Hour Later**

Dean entered Sam's room and his eyes fell on the restraints. He hated seeing his little brother basically tied down to the bed. The restraints were padded and didn't hurt him, he knew this logically in his head, but the big brother part of him felt protective and wanted to get them off of his sibling. "Hey Sammy," he spoke softly. He ran a thumb across his brother's forehead. Sam stirred and opened his eyes. Dean always hoped that one day Sam would see him and not look right through him, but today wouldn't be one of those days. "Sam?" His voice was casual. "Sammy, I'm here," he replied. "You're not alone kiddo." Sam moved slightly, but couldn't move too much due to the restraints. "The doc wants to study that freaky head of yours while you're sleeping. It won't hurt Sammy, I promise, okay." Dean's voice shook. He felt the sting of hot tears and blinked rapidly to rid his eyes of the watery intrusion. "Dammit," he muttered to himself. "You gotta come back Sammy. You're all I got. This family has lost too damn much because of that yellow-eyed bastard. We lost Mom and Dad. You lost Jessica, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna lose you too. I'm getting you back," he asserted firmly.

Dean sat with Sam who drifted in an out of his sedated state. There was a brief knock at Sam's bedroom door and Kendra entered. "Fancy meeting you here," she smiled. She had become very accustomed to the Dean's presence and knew he looked after his little brother with tender ferocity that she admired.

"Hey Kendra," Dean met her eyes. "Dr. Winters said you were here when Sam had his," Dean paused. "His episode."

"Yes, well I'm his night nurse, so I was here."

"They gave him Haldol again didn't they?"

"There wasn't really a choice Dean. I know you don't like it, but…" Dean interrupted her.

"I know it helps to calm him and make him more manageable, so he doesn't hurt himself or anyone else, and I get that I do, but I'm never going to be in the sort of head space needed to accept that my little brother is being given an anti-psychotic drug." Kendra offered a reassuring smile.

"I know," she attempted to comfort. "I was given sleep study orders for his chart a little while ago. So, Dr. Winters is having Sam monitored tonight and possibly the next few to see if he has another outburst, huh?"

"Yeah, it sounded like a good idea. Maybe it'll offer some answers."

"Maybe," Kendra replied not willing to offer false hope or take it away for that matter.

"So, who's on tonight to monitor Sam's sleep study?" Dean asked.

"I looked on the schedule and its Dr. Kraus's rotation for tonight." Dean remembered that doctor and liked him. He was compassionate, but honestly blunt. A real straight shooter.

"Good," he commented. "At least I know its not that quack Tolfer," Dean complained. He didn't like that doctor and had requested that unless it was a matter of life or death he never wanted Sam on his rotation. The man had said Sam was a chronic case and would never function outside of an institution. And, Dr. Winters had made sure that Dr. Tolfer was assigned to another wing, so that there were never any conflicts with Sam's care.

Kendra gave Dean a knowing nod about Dr. Tolfer. "Well, Dr. Winters gave instructions to let this sedative wear off and to not give Sam anymore. He doesn't want his sleep drug induced, so once he's a little more alert would you like to take him to the sunroom and see if he'll eat some lunch. He handled dinner just fine the other night, so I'm hopeful about today."

"Sure, as soon as I can get him more awake I'll take him down the hall," Dean answered. "What's on the menu today?"

"Frank and beans with macaroni and cheese, and a banana and skim milk."

"You hear that Sammy," Dean pushed back Sam's hair and could see his brother's eyes were once again open. "Hey, do you think he could have a juice box, too? He likes those and I can usually get him to drink them."

"Sure," she replied. "Here let me undo the restraints. He's been pretty quiet the last four hours or so." Dean stepped back and let her undo the leather straps. "Okay, all done, Sam," she said with a smile. "And, as soon as you're a little perkier your brother is going to take you to the sunroom for some lunch, okay?" She patted Sam on the arm.

"Thanks Kendra."

"No problem." Kendra left and Dean turned his attention back to his brother.

**Thirty Minutes Later, the Sunroom**

"Good job Sammy," Dean's voice sounded upbeat. He filled a spoon with baked beans and fed his brother. He had also managed to get half the banana into him before he started pushing it back out of his mouth when he'd had enough. "How about some more macaroni and cheese kiddo?" Dean spooned some noodles up into a plastic spoon. Sam resisted the spoon and noodles. "Come on Sammy, just a couple more bites, okay? It's good, come on."

_Sammy just a couple more bites …it's good_

There was that voice again and he felt a sense of comfort. The house didn't seem quite so empty when he heard that voice and he turned his eyes toward a window and the wasteland that lie outside and he saw the light in the distance. He felt drawn to the book on the table and opened it. He wanted to feel the pages and be reminded of something that seemed familiar, but he couldn't reach. But, today there was a word on the first page. He traced the black lettering of the one word and frowned. It said: _Brother_. The word meant something he knew, but the definition and its meaning were lost on him just like everything else in this lonely place of white-grey walls and echoes.

"Please, Sammy. You need some weight on those bones. Just finish a couple more bites okay? Look you ate all of your frank and beans. Just a little more," he almost begged. He felt like he was cajoling a child and he guessed in many ways he was. "Sammy, come on. Eat."

_Sammy … eat…_

He listened to the voice and he felt a presence at his mouth and opened. "That's my boy," Dean said with a smile. He wiped Sam's face with a napkin and proceeded to open a juice box pouring its contents into a Styrofoam cup, and held it to Sam's mouth. He wouldn't drink from a straw, so Dean had to coax the fluid into his brother's mouth. The first initial sip or two would almost always dribble down his chin and Dean would try to catch the fruity liquid before it got on Sam's shirt. "There you go, it's your favorite Sammy," Dean spoke gently. Sam began to drink from the cup Dean held it to his lips with an occasional dribble escaping out of the corner of his mouth. "That's okay kiddo I got it," Dean assured as he licked a napkin and wiped the sticky trail off his brother's chin with the moistened napkin.

**Later that Evening, the Roadhouse, 10:00 PM**

Dean covered the bar alongside Ellen while Jo cleared tables and took drink orders. It was a busy night, but Dean couldn't help but think about Sammy and how the sleep study was going. He was pulled from his thoughts about Sam when a group of gregarious hunters burst into the roadhouse ready for beer and to tout the tales of their latest hunt.

**Meanwhile, the Stillwater Center**

Sam was fast asleep in his bed. Kendra moved quietly around the bed to assure the electrodes on Sam's forehead and temples were all reporting to the digital recorder. She looked at the screen to verify and saw his brain activity. She made sure his restraints were comfortable for him, but would prevent him from lashing out. She did one final check of his heart rate and oxygen levels and left the room leaving the door open.

Sam walked around the mostly empty house, but something felt different as he started down a long hallway. He saw a door he hadn't noticed before and approached it. He turned the knob and entered. He found himself standing in a bedroom and he walked around looking at the items. He hadn't seen this much in a very long time. He could hear water running and looked toward a small door that was ajar. He glanced around the room and saw clothing draped over a chair, a bed, books, and a backpack, it felt familiar to him on some very deep level. He felt compelled to lie down on the bed and close his eyes.

Drip … he jerked slightly

Drip … he jerked again and his eyes snapped open

And there she was splayed across the ceiling her face frozen in fear and accusation. As her blonde hair cascaded outward framing her face. His eyes went wide.

…_Why Sam..._

And, then the flames began to roar overhead consuming her in the fire. Sam felt the heat and ran from the room as the roar of the fire was loud and popping. And, that voice echoed down the hallway following him as he ran.

…_Why Sam..._

The voice filled the house and he pulled back into a corner.

…_Why Sam…Why…Why…Why Sam…_

"No Jess!" He yelled a name he didn't remember knowing. "No!" he repeated. "Jess!" Sam thrashed violently in the bed as all of the monitors blared in alarm at his body's distress.

"Oh, God," Kendra's clipped response could be heard down to the nurses station as she ran into Sam's room. Dr. Kraus ran in behind her.

"No Jess! Jess!" Sam continued to yell and thrash.

"He's talking," the doctor's eyes showed his surprise as he looked at the monitors and frowned. "His heart rate is through the roof," Dr. Kraus barked. "We gotta calm this kid down."

"Do you want the Haldol injection?" Kendra asked.

"No," the doctor answered abruptly as Sam continued to thrash. "Give me 5mg of Diazepam," the doctor swabbed Sam's shoulder and inserted the needle into the muscle of his arm. "There you go kiddo," he said in a soothing voice. "Come on," he encouraged. "Calm down." He watched Sam's heart rate begin to come down and his breathing regulated.

"Jess?" Sam whispered as his eyes slid closed. Kendra looked at Dr. Kraus with stunned eyes.

"In eight months," her voice a whisper. "I've never heard him speak."

"Who is Jess?" He asked looking through Sam's file in the hopes that maybe it was listed in his background notes. He continued to scan his patient's history.

"I'm not sure. I could call his brother Dean."

"No, I want to call Dr. Winters first. He's Sam's primary physician. Um," his voice drifted off as something caught his eye. "Here it is," he began to read out loud. "Jessica Moore, girlfriend, died in a campus apartment fire in November 2005. It looks like Sam was the only survivor."

"Oh," Kendra cast a sorrowful glance at Sam's now peaceful face.

"I need to call Dr. Winter and see if he wants to notify his brother tonight or wait."

**Later at the Roadhouse, 11:20 PM**

Things had quieted, but only a small fraction. It wasn't unusual for a weekend night to go strong until Ellen threw everyone out at 1:00 in the morning. The phone rang and Ellen reached over and picked it up.

"Harvelle's Roadhouse."

"Ellen? It's Marcus," Dr. Marcus Winters spoke evenly. He could hear the ruckus of conversations in the background and hear the music playing. "Is Dean around? I'd like to speak to him." Ellen frowned and leaned into the phone concentrating on her old friend's voice. "Is it Sam? Has something happened?"

"Sam's okay," his voice hedged. "I just really need to speak with Dean."

"Why don't I believe you," Ellen complained. "Look that boy is all he has in the world for family and if something has happened I have to be prepared, so I can prepare him."

"Ellen," Marcus let out a long sigh. He sometimes forgot how insistent she could become when she was concerned. "I know these boys matter to you, but you're not family. Look, Sam is fine. He's resting, but I need to speak with Dean."

"Hold on," Ellen replied. "I'll get him." Ellen looked around and spotted Dean near the pool table with a group of hunters. "Dean," she called out waiting to make eye contact with him. He looked over at Ellen and saw she was holding the phone. He felt his stomach drop. It was late and the only calls that came late were seldom very good. He dropped his pool cue with a brief apology to the other hunters and took long strides toward Ellen and the imposing phone handset she was holding. "Dean, honey," she started. "It's Marcus." Dean snatched the phone with urgency.

"Tell me he's okay," Dean commanded and pleaded all at once. "He's okay, right?"

"He's resting," Dr. Winters replied.

"That's not a damn answer," Dean ground out. "I asked if he was okay. Dammit you said this sleep study wouldn't hurt him. I trusted you…" Dean was cut off suddenly by two words spoken over the phone line.

"He spoke."

"What?" Dean replied breathlessly into the phone. Dr. Winters took a breath and proceeded to fill Dean in on what had been reported to him by Dr. Kraus.

**Meanwhile, Stillwater Center, Sam's Room **

Sam was back in the house. He felt a slight disconnect from its walls and empty rooms, but not enough that he didn't remember the fire, the girl, and her voice begging him to answer her … _why Sam_ and most of all he remembered a name, her name and it made him ache. He sat in a lone wooden chair with his arms wrapped around himself and rocked whispering the word _Jess_ over and over.

Kendra stood over Sam checking his vitals and watched his lips move silently in his mildly sedated sleep. She bent close to hear the barest hint of a vocalization and it was clear … _Jess…Jess…Jess…_sounding almost like a prayer into the darkness he was trapped in. She smiled tenderly at him and stroked his hair for a moment before leaving his room.

**Thirty Minutes Later**

Dean rushed into the lobby and recognized the night guard at the desk. "Hey Malcolm, can you buzz me into the East wing. I'm meeting Dr. Winters." The center had two lock down procedures for security. During the day the lobby's information desk was manned with two secretaries and the wings were open. But, the units were always on lock down and you had to be buzzed through at the nurse's stations.

"Hi Dean, it's been a while since I've seen you here this late," the fifty something guard leaned forward to buzz Dean inside. The wings of the center were on lock down after 7:00 PM. "No worries," his voice casual. "Doc Winters already called me and said you'd be coming."

"Thanks Malcolm." Dean hurried through the impact resistant decorator glass door. He thought it was a little amusing that the lobby security doors still maintained a sense of normalcy with their nice glass appearance with etchings of weeping willow trees the center's logo, but would also withstand the impact of whatever a patient could throw at it to try and get out.

Dean hurried into the East wing and headed straight for the 'Acute Unit' and Sam's room. He saw Dr. Winters waiting at the nurse's station. "Hi Dean," the doctor replied with a soft smile. The physician was in jeans and polo shirt with gym shoes. Dean had never seen the man look so casual, but he figured considering the hour and that the man had been called at home it was understandable.

"Hey doc, how's Sam? Has he spoken anymore?"

"Well, Kendra heard him whispering in his sleep the name Jess once again. But, nothing new was said beyond what I told you on the phone when I called. He's still resting. I'd like to go talk in my office before you see him, alright?"

"Okay," Dean wanted to see Sam so badly and to hear his voice even if it meant listening to him call for his dead girlfriend. Dean followed the doctor into his office and sat down.

"Dean as I've mentioned Sam is suffering from some kind of disassociation with an atypical catatonia, and I'll be honest I've never dealt with this kind of uncharacteristic attributes to this particular kind of disassociation. Sam's case is unique and we both know in more ways than one," he offered Dean a wry smile.

"What about the sleep study?" Dean cut to the chase. "He's never spoken before and he hasn't had dreams about Jessica for a while … why now?"

"His brain activity was all over the place during his episode," Dr. Winters began. "And to be frank I'm not entirely sure Sam's dreaming," he paused. "I think perhaps he's reliving aspects of his life … things from memory. Maybe, he's seeing or hearing memories, does that make sense?"

"You're saying Sam was probably reliving the fire and Jessica's death like it was just happening."

"Not sure," the doctor's face was pensive. "He's defiantly experiencing something and I'd estimate a guess that he's been having flashes or auditory memories for a while based on his outbursts and screaming. And, it wasn't until tonight that he screamed his girlfriend's name. I think tonight the stakes went up for him and it allowed him to directly tap into a memory enough to recall a name and he was able to vocalize."

"Does this mean he'll start talking now?" Dean was hopeful.

"Not necessarily," the doctor commented. "But, it doesn't mean he won't," he countered. "Sam doesn't show any signs that he's engaging his environment and coming out of this atypical catatonia, but the mind is a strange thing. Let's play it by ear."

"Fine," Dean's voice was soft, but the frustration in his tone was evident. "I want to see him."

"Sure. I plan on sticking around a little while. I'll walk you to the unit. I wanted to write some notes in his chart. I'll be going over his brain activity recordings in depth over the next day or two, but I can tell you he is having major activity during his episodes." Dean nodded.

**Ten Minutes Later, Sam's Room**

Dean sat next to Sam stroking his hair. "Hey Sammy," his voice was soft. "You wanna talk? I hear you spoke tonight. Sammy, can you hear me? Listen, little brother, whatever is going on in that head of yours don't give into it, okay? And, Jess," he paused. "Sammy, Jess's death wasn't your fault … you hear me it wasn't your fault." Dean continued to stroke Sam's hair gently.

…_you hear me…Sammy…Jess…wasn't your fault…_

There was that voice again and its fragmented speech. Sam felt drawn to the hallway again, but he avoided the door at the far end, the one with flames behind it, but he couldn't help but notice that other doors had appeared. He stood looking at them and felt pulled toward one.

…_Sammy…_

That voice surrounded him like a warm embrace, but the pull toward opening a new door was too strong and he turned the knob. Sam walked into another bedroom different from the last, and as if on auto pilot he walked to a wall and kneeled down on his knees with a hammer and small bag. Again, it felt familiar, but he couldn't touch the memory in its completeness. He picked up the small hammer and it seemed his muscle memory took over and just as he was about to knock a hole in the drywall there was a crash behind him and suddenly something wrapped around his neck and pulled him backward to the floor.

Dean watched Sam's forehead crease in tension. The heart monitor he was still attached to began to beep wildly.

Sam fought the tightness of a cord around his neck. He couldn't pull in the oxygen he needed. He felt like someone should be there to help him, to save him, and his eyes moved expectantly to the open doorway, but he was alone, and he felt his world begin to dim around the edges. He struggled in one vain final attempt as he thrust himself upward, but there was no escape and no oxygen.

"Sammy!" Dean screamed as Sam's body arched painfully against the leather restraints as his brother made struggled breathing noises as if he were trying to breathe through wet cheesecloth and failing. Sam's eyes were wide and seeing right through Dean. "Help!" Dean shouted as his hands moved frantically over his brother.

In one brief moment right before the suffocating oblivion reaching for him and cutting off his ability to breathe completely claimed him he thought of one word to shout with his last ounce of air in his depleted and starving lungs, "Dean!" and the darkness claimed him.

Dean met his brother's eyes and for a moment he knew Sam had seen him. He listened to Sam's strangled last breath expended on his name, and just as quickly Sam's eyes slid partially closed and he collapsed back against the bed and alarms blared from all directions. Dr. Winters and the medical staff poured into the room with a crash cart. Before Dean was pulled away he glanced at the wailing monitor next to his brother's bed and it bore an unwavering thin straight blue line and he knew his brother's heart had stopped.

"Sammy!" He screamed as he was pulled by an orderly from the room. "No! Sammy!"

**To Be Continued**

**This installment was a little longer than the last. I'm actually ahead a little and have chapters 4 and 5 written already, but I'm trying to pace myself, so I don't post all at once and then make you wait too long for chapter six which I'm working on. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

**Thanks.**


	4. Memory Origami

Disclaimer: refer to chapter one

**NOTE TO READERS: **I'm glad everyone seems to be enjoying the story, so far. And, thanks once again for all of the comments and reviews! They are appreciated. I hope to make this story a total of ten chapters, or at least that's what I'm shooting for, but could be between 10 and 12, however, my goal is 10. Thanks again! Happy reading, I hope.

**Chapter Four**

**Memory Origami **

By Dawn Nyberg

"Dammit," Dr. Winters hissed. "Come on kid," he grunted as he continued compressions. "When was the last Epi bolus?"

"Five minutes," Kendra answered as another staff member squeezed the ambu bag over Sam's face delivering breaths to his still lungs. The doctor shot her a solemn look and continued his compressions on Sam's chest.

"Please, Sam," his voice quietly commanding. "Come on give us something," he looked at the heart monitor. Sam had been asystole with no rhythm since he crashed. He had hoped he could at least get his heart into a ventricular fibrillation, so he could shock him, but nothing was working. "How long has he been down?"

"Fifteen minutes," Kendra replied. The doctor sighed and stopped delivering compressions to Sam.

"Sonofabitch," he barked suddenly in anger. He dropped his head and looked at his young patient's still face. "I'll call it," his voice was hesitant. He glanced at the heart monitor and the persistent flat line couldn't be denied. He placed his stethoscope against Sam's chest to verify there was no heart activity, and he placed his fingers at Sam's neck and felt nothing. He glanced at the clock, "Time of death 23:41." The staff backed away and began to file out of the room. Dr. Winters looked at Kendra as she shut off the wailing heart monitor dropping the room into a momentary silence. "Will you remove the monitors from him? I know Dean will want some time with him."

"Of course," her voice shook with emotion. "What happened?" She asked sadly. She couldn't mask her confusion over how Sam's heart had suddenly stopped.

"I don't know. Perhaps, an arrhythmia brought on by a severe physically manifested memory that could have put him into a profound state of shock causing the respiratory failure and subsequent cardiac arrest. I can't be certain, but an autopsy will determine cause of death, although we'll never truly know. I need to go talk to Dean." Kendra nodded and began to prepare Sam's body for his brother's impending visit.

Dean stood down the hall and had been watching the staff leave his brother's room, but the orderly still blocked his return to his little brother's room. He watched Dr. Winters leave the room and he saw his face and it spoke volumes.

"No!" he barked. His voice echoed down the quiet hallway to the unit. Dr. Winters hurried to Dean's side.

"You can leave him be," the doctor looked at the orderly urging him with his eyes to leave.

"No," Dean said again forcefully. "Sammy's okay. He's fine. Tell me he's okay," Dean's eyes were desperate and his voice agonized.

"Dean, I'm so sorry," the doctor began. "We weren't able to get his heart beating again. He's gone Dean." Dean stared at the man in disbelief as large silent tears welled and poured in large droplets down his ashen cheeks.

Dean felt his knees give out and connect with the floor. He felt a hand on his shoulder and knew the doctor was trying to comfort him, but there was no comfort. Sam was gone. Sammy was dead. It was all too much and the thought that the last word he ever heard from his baby brother was his name screamed in a way that sounded like he needed his big brother to protect him, to keep him safe and he had failed. He did the only thing he could as the agony of Sam's death wrapped its cold embrace around him, he screamed, "Sammy!" It was a loud, echoing primal scream. He rocked back on his folded legs and screamed again, "Sammy!" Before he allowed the grief to consume him.

**Meanwhile, Sam's Room**

Kendra pulled the electrodes from Sam's chest. She pushed back Sam's bangs gently. She looked down at his face and noted his eyes were still partially open, so she dropped her hand carefully down and closed his eyes all the way.

…_Sammy…_

It was loud and clear. But, there was a desperate quality to it. Sam was in the house again. He rubbed his chest absently with one hand while another rubbed his neck. He wasn't in the room anymore. There was no lamp cord around his neck. But, he felt a pull against him and the white-grey walls blurred around him drawing him into a place away from pain and memories. He felt he was on a tenuous slope and if he let go he'd never get back, but letting go meant letting the pain go and he'd finally be free of this empty house with echoes and doors, this limbo. But there was a shout, a voice…

…_Sammy…_

There is was again that word. He knew now it was his name. It was his name being screamed desperately from a voice that he knew to follow to safety; this voice was like a lightening rod to his brain. His mind ignited into a firestorm of memories, flashes filled his head. A montage of voices and pictures played through his mind, but his final flash was of hazel-green eyes and the name Dean.

Kendra was pulling up a sheet and blanket to neatly place across Sam's chest when a loud struggling gasp tore from Sam's silent body. His breath struggled and his chest rose and fell spastically with uneven breaths. She jerked away and stared wide-eyed. "Oh my God," she covered her mouth in a combination of surprise and shock. She spilled out into the hallway. "Dr.Winters!" She shouted. The alarm in her voice was evident. "He's breathing!" She shouted and motioned to her co-workers to bring back in the crash cart.

Dr. Winters took off running. "Dean wait here, please," he barked as he ran toward Sam's room. Dean was still on his knees as he watched the doctor's fast retreating form disappear into his brother's room.

"Sammy," Dean whispered to himself frozen in place on the floor fearing if he moved it would end whatever dream world he had stumbled into where his little brother was alive.

**Two Hours Later**

"It beats the hell out of me," Dr. Winters said rubbing a hand across his tired face. "In all my years I've never seen this before. I'll have to assume that the last bolus of adrenalin we gave him worked and that there was some level of electrical activity in his heart that neither the equipment nor myself were able to detect, otherwise, I'd have to chalk this up to a miracle." The doctor finished. He had explained a lot of things to Dean in the past two hours, but it was still all a little confusing to him even as a seasoned physician. He had never actually called time of death on a patient and then shortly after the patient gasp back to life.

"But, Sam's okay though?" Dean shifted from one foot to another. He wanted to see his brother and touch him to confirm what the doctor was saying … Sam was alive; his baby brother was really alive.

"Well, as we discussed a while ago. I can't explain the swelling in his throat, but we're giving him IV steroids to help reduce the swollen airway. And, we've intubated him to insure he continues to have unrestricted breathing until the swelling goes down. It's a damn mystery really. It's almost like he was strangled by some kind of ligature device, maybe a cord or something." He saw Dean's face pale slightly. "What?"

"You said he could be reliving memories, right?"

"Yes," the doctor hedged. Dean lowered his voice, so only the doctor was privy to his words.

"There was a hunt we were on a long time ago and Sam was strangled by a lamp cord by a poltergeist." The doctor looked at him and couldn't help but shake his head.

"And, what happened?"

"I got there in time, but I couldn't get the cord off until I put this Hoodoo bag in the wall to cleanse the house. Sam had already stopped struggling …" Dean's voice trailed off a bit as the long ago memory assaulted him. "He almost…he could have…" his speech was broken. "I got it off of him and he could breathe."

"But," the doctor looked at him with a look of eureka. "But, if you had been even a minute or two later," he studied Dean. "Sam would have been lethally strangled?" He hedged.

"I guess so, but what does it matter he's okay now, right?"

"In his mind Dean," Dr. Winters began. "I'm thinking he has been having flashes like we spoke about. And, he shouted your name before he crashed on us. I think in his mind his memories of self are so fragmented that he relived the moment, but you weren't there to save him because for him maybe he doesn't have the memory of you, but at the last moment his subconscious connected the dots so to speak and he called out for you, but the subliminal effects of the memory manifested themselves physically in his body and he literally felt he was being strangled." Dr. Winters seemed truly amazed with his hypothesis. "This is truly amazing, really."

"Look I don't really care about all … this mind mumbo jumbo doc," Dean groused. "I just want to see my brother. I want him to be okay. I want him back," Dean asserted.

**Twenty Minutes Later, Sam's Room**

Dean sat holding Sam's hand and listened to the whoosh of the ventilator. "Hey Sammy," Dean cooed. "The doc says as soon as those meds kick in and your throat isn't so swollen he can take that damn tube out of your throat, okay?" Sam didn't stir. Dean sat watching is brother's still features. He reached out and stroked his forehead with a thumb. "You scared me Sammy," his voice shook. "Just hear me okay … come back … I'm here … I'll always be here … you're not alone Sammy.

…_I'm here …you're not alone Sammy…_

Sam heard the voice, but he was tired, so tired and he just wanted to continue to float between the layers of unconsciousness he had slipped into. He was no longer in the house with blank walls; he was everywhere and nowhere all at the same time.

"Sammy come home," Dean's voice pleaded as he stroked Sam's bangs. "Come home, Sammy. You hear me?"

…_Come home …you hear me …Sammy…_

The voice was fragmented, but for the first time he knew the voice … it was Dean. But, sleep pulled him under and he let it come blocking away the voice.

**Two Days Later**

"Why isn't he waking up?" Dean's voice held accusation sitting across from the doctor's desk in his office.

"Dean," Dr. Winters started. "Your brother's body went through an extreme physical trial two days ago. He had an extended cardiac arrest. His body is getting the rest its demanding. He's improving," he added. "Look, on the bright side we were able to take him off the ventilator and his airway is no longer restricted. Be patient for him to wake up. But, Dean," the doctor's tone was hesitant.

"There is no guarantees that anything has changed … you know that right? I think some positive steps have been made in some respects as your brother's mind begins to process memories, but chances are he's not going to wake up and start razzing you and walk out of here in a day or two. He's not sleeping beauty and he's not just gonna open his eyes and everything is peaches and cream, there isn't a magic cure for the psychological trauma he underwent when he went up against … the demon," he finished the sentence in a lowered whisper. "Whatever took him away from reality and locked his mind away causing him to withdraw into the extreme state he's been in for the last eight months…" Dean interrupted the doctor.

"I know Doc okay. I'm not delusional. But, some kind of improvement isn't out of the question, right?" Dean hedged.

"No, but…" Dean raised a hand. He didn't want to hear anything else that was going to tell him his brother may still be lost, maybe forever.

**Later that Afternoon, Sam's Room**

Dean had been ever vigilant since he almost lost Sam two nights ago. Actually, he had lost him, but something gave him back and he wasn't asking _why_ he was only thankful. Sam stirred and Dean sat up straighter in his chair hopeful that his brother would at least open his eyes. Sam's eyes opened slowly and he squinted at the sunlight breaking through his window in the corner shedding a beam of light across his bed. "Sammy? It's okay kiddo," Dean tried to reassure his brother and hoped his words reached deep into the recesses of his brother's mind where his Sammy was being held captive. He stroked Sam's arm gently. "Sammy you're safe," his voice was quiet and comforting. "I'm here little brother."

…_Sammy…you're safe…I'm here…_

Sam heard that voice and for once he truly could put a name to its familiarity. He turned his head toward the voice. Dean sat in stunned silence and dared to hope. He stared at Sam as their eyes met. Hazel-green meeting dark pools that were actually seeing.

"Dean?" It was whispered, choked and desperate. Dean leaned forward and took his brother's hand in his own.

"Yeah, Sammy. It's me. I'm here, are you?" Dean wasn't sure his brother was actually talking to him or a memory. Sam looked at him oddly.

"Am I here?" He asked curiously. "I'm talking to you aren't I?" Dean dared to smile and even allow a quiet chuckle to leave his throat. He watched Sam look around the room idly from his vantage point on the bed. "Where are we?"

"Um," Dean suddenly felt at a loss. His mind overwhelmed by the sound of his brother's voice and his apparent sudden and complete return to the wise ass little brother he had missed these past eight months. His mind asking one question: _Is this to good to be true?_ And, knowing their luck he feared it was. Sam looked at his brother's pensive face and frowned. "I asked you a question man," he coughed slightly at his dry and sore throat. It ached as though it hadn't really been used in a long time. "Where are we?"

Dean snapped from his stupor of stunned silence. "Uh, I'll get your doctor Sammy, Okay? He's a good guy you'll like him." Dean started to stand.

"Dean," Sam's voice was suddenly urgent. "What doctor? Why do I have a doctor? Was there an accident? Dammit," he hissed in frustration edging on panic. "Talk to me!" His heart monitor began to show his elevated heart rate. Dean cast a worried glance.

"Hey, hey," Dean leaned forward and dropped a hand on Sam's forearm. "Calm down okay," he calmly tried to order. "I'll get Doc Winters in here and we'll talk."

"No!" Sam spat. "Why am I here?"

"What do you remember?" Dean asked suddenly before he could stop himself. Sam looked at Dean as he tried desperately to grasp onto one memory that told him of his life before this moment in this room. He knew his big brother, but as he tried to push into his mind and access his life he suddenly felt overwhelmed by fear, loss and a profound turmoil. His eyes went wide and his breath hitched in his throat. "Sammy?" Dean stood up instantly recognizing his sibling was on the ragged edge of holding it together. "It's okay," he urged. "Just relax … you're okay."

"No, no," Sam's eyes welled up in response to his fear and uncertainty. "Dean, why can't I remember what happened? I can't …" Sam suddenly turned on is his side away from his brother drawing his knees tightly up to his chest. Sam wanted to become as small as he could, so he might disappear from the pain, from this nightmare he felt he'd woken up to. Dean's heart started to hammer in his chest. He strode to the door quickly and opened it. He spotted Julia, Sam's day nurse.

"Julia," his voice was urgent. "Page Dr. Winters, Sam woke up." Her eyes studied him.

"Wait, you mean he woke up, woke up?" Dean nodded. She stood quickly to grab the phone on the opposite desk.

"Tell him to hurry, he's upset, I'm afraid…" his voice trailed off as he heard Sam's muffled sobs behind him. He turned back to help his brother. Dean walked back up to the bed. Sam looked so small curled up against the bed railing crying. "Sammy, shh," Dean tried to comfort. He was at a loss at how to handle this. As Sam continued to sob with his face turned into his pillow something clicked in Dean and he did what he used to do for a crying baby Sammy. He lowered one of the bedrails and climbed into his brother's bed. He curled himself as much as he could around his little brother. He slid one arm under Sam's neck and slipped the other protectively around his brother's shaking form. He held him close and rocked him. Dean rested his chin atop Sam's chestnut hair. "It's okay Sammy. Shh, it's okay. Shh, I got ya little brother, I got ya." Dean's mind was pulled back to what he had said to his brother after the battle with the demon. The same words, but this time he wasn't losing Sam again. He wasn't going to let his brother slip away again. "Don't go away again," Dean begged softly. "Sammy, I'm here. You're safe. Shh…" He felt one of Sam's hands wrap around the wrist of the arm wrapped across his chest and his little brother squeezed. Sam's sobbing had hushed to quiet whimper.

Dean held his brother and in many ways he felt tethered to him as if his own sanity hinged on Sam holding onto this world and not slipping away into his own mind once again. Both brothers clung to the only constant they'd known practically their entire lives, each other.

**To Be Continued**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks!**


	5. Through the Rabbit Hole

Disclaimer: refer to chapter one

**NOTE TO READERS: **Thanks for the many comments and reviews for chapter four. I believe I have replied to every review I received that I had a means in which to contact you. But, I just want to say thanks across the board to every reader! As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Chapter Five**

**Through the Rabbit Hole**

By Dawn Nyberg

Dean paced nervously down the hallway in the small waiting area near the nurse's desk. Dr. Winters had been inside Sam's room for over an hour now and Dean was ready to burst. When Dr. Winters had arrived Sam was still clinging to Dean. His whimpering had stopped and he had sunk into self rocking again. Dean hadn't been able to get his brother to speak to him again and he was afraid he would lose him once more. Finally, Dean spotted the doctor leaving Sam's room. He watched him speak to Julia, Sam's day nurse and she nodded going to the medication room. The doctor shifted his gaze down the hall and began walking toward Dean. The doctor pulled his badge off and ran it through the security system lock and the door snapped open so he could reach Dean at the nurse's station on the other side of the security door.

"How are you holding up?" He offered a soft reassuring smile toward Dean.

"How's Sam?" Dean cut right to business. The doctor could see the tight lines of stress at the corners of Dean's mouth.

"Let's talk in my office," he reached a hand out and coaxed Dean toward the direction of the clinical wing.

"No, I want to see my brother. I want to see Sam," Dean slipped out from under the doctor's hand.

"Later Dean," Dr. Winters began. "I instructed Julia to give him a mild sedative so he can get some restful sleep. Right now, I think it's more important that we talk."

"No," Dean was adamant to get some answers right now. "I asked how my brother was and you can answer that without an office. He's okay, right? He didn't …" Dean struggled to find a word that would fit, and finally with a frustrated sigh and running a nervous hand over his eyes he spoke, "He didn't slip away again … his mind." Dr. Winters could see the carefully masked fear on the oldest siblings face concerning his little brother.

"No," the doctor hedged. "But, it's complicated. I'd prefer we speak in my office. Please, Dean," the doctor encouraged.

"What do you mean by complicated?" The doctor sighed.

"You are as stubborn as your father was," the doctor let out a frustrated breath. Dean looked at the man for a moment. He knew that this doctor knew Ellen and had been a hunter once upon a time, but it had never occurred to him that he might have known his dad.

"You knew my dad?" Dean questioned.

"Yeah, John and I crossed paths more than once. "Hell, we even went on some jobs together, but mostly he liked solo hunts." The doctor commented. "He was a good man, but one very stubborn sonofabitch," the man replied with a wry smile. Dean offered a mild grin in return.

"Yeah, it's a Winchester thing," he replied.

"I guess so," the doctor quipped. "Now, can we go to my office? Trust me," he reassured. "Sam will be fast asleep after the sedative, okay? He'll be fine." Dean acquiesced and followed the doctor to his office.

**Thirty Minutes Later, Dr. Winters Office**

"So, do you have any questions?" Dean shifted agonized eyes toward the doctor. He had so many questions and didn't even know where to start after their conversation. The doctor picked up on that and spoke again. "Dean, I know you're unsure about a lot of things and you have tons of questions. So, don't rake yourself over the coals trying to think of all of them now, okay?" Dean let out a breath and nodded.

"Explain to me again," Dean started. "Sam's not completely withdrawn again, but he's had a setback … what are you saying? I mean, is he responding when you speak to him? Is he talking? Or is he like he was before staring off and needing fed?"

"Well, like I told you I was able to get Sam to speak to me, but his responses were limited and he was clearly distressed. I'm sure he'll be aware enough to feed himself, but he may need coaxing. Dean, it's likely that he's going to have more setbacks as we work toward helping him come to terms with whatever happened to him when he faced the demon and banished him."

"So, you're saying he could go back to staring off into space?" Dean's rubbed a hand over his tired eyes.

"It's possible, but I'm going to do everything I can to keep him in the here and now and not let him withdraw back into his mind."

"How do you plan on doing that?" Dean cast a worried glance at the doctor.

"Well, as I mentioned I will be handling his therapy sessions myself, so that he can be free to express whatever he needs to without fear of being labeled delusional when or if he starts speaking of the demon and other things. And, I'll be trying some other medications."

"You said his memory is sketchy," Dean hedged. "What do you mean? He's got amnesia or something?"

"No, I mean he's lost some chunks of time. He knows you Dean, but he's lost some time," the doctor didn't elaborate, but Dean wanted answers.

"He's lost time," Dean started. "How much? I mean, what does he remember?"

"Well, he wasn't very talkative Dean. I told him I just wanted to ask him some brief questions, and I asked him the year," the doctor's voice trailed off.

"And," Dean nearly barked.

"He said it was 2006," Dr. Winters answered bluntly. Dean's eyes were wide.

"But it's 2008," he responded no longer able to mask his worry. "It's been two years since our dad," Dean's voice trailed off. "He's lost two years," Dean's tone was incredulous. "That means he doesn't even remember facing off with the demon or a whole lot of other stuff that's happened." Dean suddenly shifted anguished eyes to the doctor. "Shit," he hissed. "Does he even know our dad's dead? Does he remember the car wreck?" Dean felt bile creeping up in his throat as he waited for the doctor's answer. And, when it didn't come within seconds he barked, "What does he remember?"

"Being in Manning, Colorado," the doctor answered. "That's all he answered when I asked him where he remembered being last before waking up here. He began to get more agitated with himself and lack of ability to access his memories for concrete details, so I shifted to just talking to him about what I'll be doing to help him. It's important that you don't force the issue Dean. He needs to remember on his own. "What does Manning, Colorado mean to you?"

"That's where we hooked up with our Dad again. We went up against some vampires." Dean leaned forward into his hands. "God, there's so much he doesn't even remember that's happened. He doesn't know about Dad being taken and possessed, the cabin and the demon. The car wreck or Dad dying. Hell, he doesn't even know Ellen and the roadhouse." Dean's mind was reeling. There was so much Sam didn't remember. His mind was locked away from memories of Andy and his twin brother Webber. He'd lost memories of the truth about him and the children like him. He'd lost so much, and part of Dean wished some of it could be permanently lost to his little brother.

"Will he get the time back?"

"Hard to say, but eventually I think he will or at least I hope. Things are going to be precarious for a while Dean. Like I told you a while back there isn't a quick fix for this. As he remembers things he's going to experience them all over again."

"If he thinks our Dad is still alive he's going to ask where he is or to see him," Dean hedged. "What do I say?"

"Not the truth," The doctor warned. "Tell him whatever you have to in order to pacify him, but he needs to remember on his own. Forcing him into the memory before he's ready could have devastating results." Dean nodded solemnly.

"Did he ask why he's here? I mean, what did you tell? Obviously not … you lost your mind after banishing the demon." Dean turned hard eyes on the doctor.

"No you're right about that," Dr. Winters replied. "I told him he suffered a trauma that affected his brain. I told him not to worry about it and that we were doing everything we can to help him heal."

"Does he know how long he's been in here?"

"No, not yet," the doctor answered. "When I feel he is a little more ready I'll broach the subject with him."

"What if he asks?"

"Then I will tell him or I'll let you do it with me present should he have an outburst. But, we'll cross that bridge if and when we come to it, okay?"

"Yeah," Dean relented. "I want to see him?"

"Fine, but you're in agreement that he needs a few days of intensive one on one therapy to help him adjust to his current situation, so it would be best if you didn't visit for a few days. I really do feel it's for the best, and I promise to phone you with progress reports or we can even meet in my office, but its best that Sam is on his own with myself and the staff for a few days."

"I know," Dean's voice was reluctant. "I just don't want him thinkin' that I bailed on him."

"He won't Dean. I've already spoken to him and told him that I'd like some one on one time and for you to give us a few days."

"Yeah, fine," he acquiesced. "But, I want to see him before I go."

"Sure. Of course. I'll walk you there myself."

**Ten Minutes Later, Sam's Room**

Dean knocked gently on the already open door. Sam was curled on his side with his back to the door. Dean walked quietly around to the side of his brother's bed to see his little brother's face. His eyes were closed and his breathing was deep and even. He hesitated at waking his sibling, but he couldn't just leave and not say anything.

"Sammy?" His voice was quiet and gentle. "Hey, sleeping beauty," he urged. He ran a tentative hand through his brother's shaggy hair. "Sammy, can you here me?" He watched his brother's face scrunch up and then he saw bleary eyes crack open at half mast.

"Dean?" The voice was a croaked whisper laced with confusion.

"Yeah, kiddo, it's me," Dean answered with a soft smile. Sam opened his eyes a little more fully and took note of the bedrail and the fogginess of the sedative only helped to curb the anxiety a small fraction. His heart monitor beeped a staccato rhythm and his breath hitched suddenly as his eyes began to dart around scanning rapidly the half of the room he could see from lying on his side. "Hey, hey," Dean urged. "It's okay Sammy. You're okay. You remember where you are and talking to your doctor?" Sam studied his brother's face for a long moment and calmed his breathing.

"Dr. Winters," he answered with a hesitant voice. Dean nodded.

"Yeah, that's right," he tried to make his voice sound upbeat, but it fell a little short. "Um, do you remember what he talked to you about a little bit ago? That he wants some one on one time with you…" Dean tried to approach the topic of him not being around for a few days. Sam blinked lethargically as the sedative in his system began to rear its ugly head once more.

"Said you'd go away," he began to slur as the adrenalin upon waking was quickly being wicked away by the sedative.

"Listen Sammy, I'm not going away. I'll be back in a few days. The doc just thinks its better right now if you have some time with him. You hearin' me?" Dean pushed back his brother's bangs trying to rouse him as he watched his eyes glaze over slightly and begin to close. "Sammy?"

"Hmm," he mumbled as he slipped toward the comforting sedative laced sleep awaiting him.

"Sammy, you need me you ask okay? I'm not leaving you. I'll be back," he urged. Sam opened his eyes a fraction and peered at his big brother through heavy eyelids. Dean reached down and held one of his brother's hands. "You hear me? I'm not leaving you. I'll be back. I promise." Sam offered an uncoordinated nod.

"Not leaving me," he mumbled. "Be back … promise," he slurred and his eyes lost the battle with sleep and slid closed. Dean looked up and saw the doctor standing in the doorway watching.

"He's not gonna remember I spoke to him," Dean worried that his brother would think he'd been abandoned. Dean remained by his brother holding his lax hand in his own.

"If he thinks that Dean," the doctor began. "I'll remind him that you were here and that he and I spoke about you staying away for a little bit." Dean nodded. He started to let go of his brother's hand when he felt Sam squeeze it and stir slightly.

"Sammy?" He questioned and was surprised to see eyes flutter open a small bit.

"Dean," Sam slurred.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Dad," he mumbled. "Get Dad," he sighed as his eyes began to close once more. Dean felt his throat tighten and he looked up and saw the doctor's dark expression and urgent shake of his head indicating that he couldn't tell him the truth.

"Sammy, Dad's not here right now, okay? You hear me?" He fought to keep the emotion out of his voice.

"Where?" was the quietly emitted question. Sam's eyes were still closed, but he stirred fighting the complete pull of the sedative. "Hunting?" left Sam's mouth as a mumble and slur, but Dean had understood. He felt the hot sting of tears in his eyes, but he kept the impending tears from his voice.

"Yeah, Sammy," his reply was soft and gruff. "Dad's hunting. Go to sleep Sammy, it's okay to sleep."

" 'Kay," was spoken as a breathy sigh and Sam slipped fully under the pull of the sedative still in his system. Dean let go of his brother's hand and pulled the blanket up over his sibling's shoulder and walked toward the door.

"You did the right thing Dean," Dr. Winters replied as he closed Sam's door once Dean was out. "He'll remember in his own time."

"You've got four days and I'm comin' back," Dean's voice commanding.

"I think a solid week would be better," the doctor suggested lightly.

"Yeah, well, I'm not leavin' him in here for seven days all by himself. Four days."

"Fine," the doctor gave in to the older sibling's demands.

"And, you call if anything and I mean anything happens," he asserted. "And, I'm comin' everyday to get progress reports." The doctor quietly admired Dean's loyalty and sense of guardianship he had for his little brother.

"Alright," he agreed. "And, how about we have a standing appointment everyday in my office at 4:00 PM, sound good?"

"Yeah." Dean cast one final glance through the small window in his brother's door and looked at Sam curled up just as he had left him and was still sleeping soundly.

**Twenty Minutes Later, the Stillwater Center Parking Lot**

Dean sat in the Impala his hands trembling as they encircled the steering wheel. He leaned forward dropping his forehead against his white knuckled hands and cried. He hadn't felt the crippling grief and anger over his father's sacrifice and subsequent death in a long while. He had never let go of it, but had moved on from it for his and Sammy's sake. It had been his little brother that was his saving grace for that trying time in both their lives and for Sam to not remember felt like a gut punch. The grief had scarred over, but now it was a fresh wound again bleeding with ferocity. The sobs came in waves that shook him and he realized with a sudden cold fear that his baby brother would literally relive the loss when he remembered about their father and in that clarity of thought his tears came even harder. Dean Winchester cried for himself and his little brother and the fact that he couldn't protect Sammy from the impending pain of their father's death or anything else for that matter when it came to Sam's memories of the last two years. And, that realization left Dean fractured like old china plate.

**To Be Continued**

**I know things may or may not be moving a little slow for some readers, but I don't want to gloss over things just to get to another dose of angst. I think it's best to temper it just a bit. However, I could be wrong and its pace is just fine for you. At any rate, I hope for the most part you're enjoying the story so far. **

**Thanks!**


	6. Requiem for a Malignant Mind

Disclaimer: refer to chapter one

**NOTE TO READERS:** Thanks once again to everyone that has taken the time to drop me a comment or review. It's appreciated! This chapter has some conversations at the beginning, but I felt some background was necessary on Dr. Winters, etc, so this chapter isn't high on action, but does pick up near the end. I hope you enjoy this update.

**Side Note: **I hope I'm not the only one climbing the walls for the airing of "Croatoan" tonight on the CW. Yeah!

**Chapter Six**

**Requiem for a Malignant Mind**

By Dawn Nyberg

Sam sat at a corner table in the sunroom watching other patients do afternoon activities under directions of aides and caregivers. He saw others sitting quietly while some interacted with one another playing checkers or backgammon. He missed his brother, but the doctor had assured him that Dean would be back in four days. He had three whole days left before his brother returned.

"Sam," Dr. Winters voice broke through Sam's quiet stupor. "Sam I need you to focus for me, alright?" The doctor slid a piece of paper back and forth on the table to get his attention. Sam's eyes shifted lethargically to the paper. The doctor opened a box of crayons and fanned them out. "Sam do you think you could draw me a picture?"

Sam looked at the doctor with a raised eyebrow. Dr. Winters smiled. "Yeah, I know," he replied. "You're not a kid, but humor me, okay?" He replied with an amused tone. The doctor saw a brief flicker of the brother Dean had told him of when he had raised his eyebrow in apprehension and then the moment was gone. He pointed to the paper trying to keep Sam's attention on the task at hand. The young man's mind seemed to teeter on the jagged edge and he was trying to hold him to the here and now. His young patient seemed to have only a few moments of real and active lucidity. And, the doctor wasn't fooled into thinking that the youngest Winchester sibling was anywhere near a recovery.

"Sam, I want you to draw me a picture of your brother or something that represents him." He decided to start with Dean as a topic before he tried to make Sam represent himself on paper. Sam's eyes seemed to wander off again and the doctor snapped his fingers in Sam's line of sight. "Come on Sam, keep focused. Try." He snapped until Sam's eyes drifted back and met his before looking at the paper. "Do you remember what I asked you to do?"

"Draw Dean," he answered quietly.

"Yes, good," the doctor confirmed. "Or draw something that represents him." He watched Sam look over his selection of crayons and watched him select yellow. Sam proceeded to draw a simple circle and color it in and then added radiating yellow lines from the orb. The doctor smiled. Sam had drawn a sun. His young patient slid the paper back across the small table to the doctor.

"Dean," Sam replied softly.

"Excellent Sam," the doctor reassured. "Can you tell me why you chose a sun to represent your older brother?" Sam's eyes were drifting away again and the doctor snapped his fingers once again. "Focus Sam. Right here," the doctor referenced to himself. Sam slowly brought his eyes back toward the doctor. "Sam why did you choose the sun for Dean?"

"Makes it go away," he answered timidly in an absent sort of tone.

"Makes what go away?" The doctor pushed forward. "Sam," he encouraged. "Makes what go away?"

"The dark," Sam replied and seem to draw up into himself quickly before the doctor could slow his decent into himself. The slips weren't major, but he worried just the same.

"Sam, stay with me," he tried to call him back, but Sam had dropped his head and was staring at his hands. "Sam, can you tell me about the dark?" Dr. Winters spoke evenly and in a low timbre trying to coax his patient into engaging in a discourse. "The dark Sam," he asserted. "What about the dark?"

"No!" Sam yelled suddenly. "Nononono," he began to chant as he started rocking in his chair wrapping his arms around himself. The doctor motioned for a nurse and he quickly administered a mild sedative to calm Sam, so they could get him back to his room. Some of the other patients watched as if it were entertainment while others didn't even seem to notice the outburst. They moved Sam into a wheelchair and the doctor followed alongside the wheelchair.

"It's going to be okay Sam," he placed a hand gently on his patients shoulder. "We'll get you sorted out."

**One Hour Later, Sam's Room**

And, with sleep came the house and its white-grey walls. The sedatives no longer lulled him away from the emptiness and echoes as they were always waiting when his eyes closed. He walked around the room and noticed a small lamp had appeared on the table near the solitary chair. The bulb was dim and flickering, but it lit a small portion of the shadows, but not enough, it would never be enough. Sam found a corner and slid down the wall pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around them. He sat silently until his eyes cast up toward the dim light emitting from the lamp and his gaze was drawn to the book. He longed to feel the pages again. He rose up just enough to snatch it from the table and went back to his position on the floor. He looked at the wooden chair and he didn't want it, so he gave it an angry shove with his foot as he propped the book in his lap.

He opened it and saw knew words, but now the one he had seen before, but couldn't define made perfect sense …_brother_ and he traced the word and smiled. He turned the page and noticed more words arranged almost as if they were a shopping list: _Father, mother, lost, _and as his eyes read over the final words and his world seemed to close in on him a little more, two words in simple black lettering, _the dark_. He threw the book under the table and watched it skid across the wood floor. "No," he whispered. And, the voices came again.

…_Then why'd you get so angry when I left…_

…_You gotta understand Sammy…_

…_Why'd you do it…_

…_Because they got in the way…_

…_In the way of what…_

…_My plans for you Sammy and the children like you…_

"Nononono," Sam began muttering as he curled against the wall knocking his head against it in rhythm to his muttering. And, as his aggression grew he hit harder and harder. "Nonononono."

Dr. Winters approached Sam's room to check on him after the sedative. Dean was scheduled to show for a progress report in three hours, so he had time. Sam had been cooperative, so they hadn't restrained him. He slid his ID through the locking mechanism on Sam's door. His eyes quickly noticed the empty bed. He heard a noise and walked toward the other side of Sam's bed. "Sam! No!" the doctor went to grab the young man. Sam was huddled against the wall banging his head repeatedly. There was blood splattered against the wall leaving a blotchy red impact mark on the pristine white wall and the right side of Sam's face was a sheen of blood. "Help! We have a situation!" the doctor barked. And, just as he reached Sam's he watched Sam bang his head one final time violently denting the drywall. Sam's eyes rolled back into his head as he lost consciousness.

"Shit!" the doctor hissed as medical staff came flooding into Sam's room. The doctor took out a penlight and looked into Sam's eyes. "Well, it's a safe bet the kid has gone and given himself one hell of a concussion. Kendra, call the Medical Unit and tell them I need a stat MRI and I'm placing him on the Med Unit for observation." Kendra nodded and stood up as other staff helped the doctor. "Dammit Sam," he grumbled. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should have had you restrained." His eyes studied the pale face of his patient as he listened to his heart and breathing. "Geez, you're a mess," he took in the side of Sam's face covered in blood.

**Two Hours Later, the Medical Unit, South Wing**

"Well, Shawn, how is he?" Dr. Winters asked his long time friend who was the Chief of Staff in their Neurological Studies Department.

"His MRI was clean," Dr. Shawn Nish, began. "No skull fracture or hemorrhage, so that's good. He has a moderate concussion and the scans show very minor edema. I've put him on a mannitol drip as a precaution for the swelling, but I don't anticipate it causing a problem. You know Mark I did a PET scan of his brain and well to put it bluntly man, he's trippin'. His brain is lit up like the freakin' Fourth of July. How's this kid even functioning?"

"I wouldn't call what he's been doing technically functioning," Marcus started. "Did you read any of his file?"

"Yeah, I saw until recently he's been in this atypical catatonia for eight months, but he woke up confused, and started talking like everything was fine, right?"

"Well, he asked his brother where he was, but I wouldn't say he woke up normally. He became emotionally distraught fairly quick and regressed quickly to a more childlike response pattern of rocking and crying."

"Hmm," Shawn replied. "You gonna tell me what got him in here?"

"Can't Shawn and frankly I'm still workin' that part out." Shawn Nish looked at his friend he'd known since college, both men were now in their mid forties, but Shawn had always seemed to maintain his California boy attitude from his youth before winding up in Nebraska at Stillwater a number of years later and meeting up with Marcus once again.

Shawn glanced around to make sure the scan analysis room was clear except for them, "does this have anything to do with that freaky stuff you used to go after? He hunt like you used to? He's just a kid." Marcus nodded. He had told Shawn about the supernatural and hunting years ago out of necessity because they had gone on a camping trip to celebrate their approaching end of fourth year in their medical residency before accepting offers at other hospitals and saying goodbye. Unfortunately, the lunar cycle had been perfect for werewolves and they had had a run in with one until Marcus took it down with a silver bullet.

"Yes, he's a hunter," Marcus relented. "But mum's the word, right?"

"I'm not saying anything. Even after seeing what I saw all those years ago … I still have trouble getting my mind around it. I'm just glad you retired, so to speak," he said with a grin. "Damn, I was always expecting Camille to call and tell me she was a widow because you got your ass killed by Frankenstein or something." Marcus laughed.

"Frankenstein isn't real," he mused. "Vampires, yeah, but Frankenstein," he just shook his head with a smile. "You watch too many movies."

"Yeah, right," he chuckled. "It's not my fault I went to college with the modern day Van Helsing."

"Yeah, yeah, but what about Sam," he wanted to get back to his patient's diagnosis.

"Huh? Oh yeah," he grinned. "Uh, his head should be just fine. He gave himself a scalp laceration at his hair line. It took six stitches, but it's fine. He's responsive to pain stimuli, but he's still unconscious for the most part. I suspect he'll come around in a couple hours or so. You know if he decides to become agitated or combative I can't sedate him," he warned. "It could cause a coma."

"I know. Maybe give a low dose anti-anxiety to avoid any possible sedative effects, okay?"

"Yeah, you want to see him?"

"Yes."

Marcus stood alone at his patient's bed side. Sam's face was stark white and lax. The monitors all showed a good pulse and oxygen levels. He pulled back each of Sam's eyelids to confirm with his own eyes that his young charge wasn't in any immediate medical crisis. The pupils reacted to the light albeit slightly unequal, but he knew that was the concussions doing. He looked over the four point restraints and made sure they were comfortably applied. "Sam? I wish I could tell you everything is going to be alright, but I can't. I hope it will be. I'm going to try and help you, I can promise you that much. You're going to have to remember things you don't want to and you're going to be scared, I know, but you have to try okay. I'll help." He spoke softly to his unconscious patient hoping that his words were reaching him, even if just a little. He looked at his watch and decided he better call Dean now rather than wait until he arrived for his appointment.

**The Roadhouse, Ten Minutes Later**

The ringing phone caught Dean's attention as he stocked the bar. "Harvelle's Roadhouse," he said into the phone.

"Dean?"

"Dr. Winters?" His voice was confused and concerned. "I'm not late am I?" Dean looked at his watch. "My appointment about Sam is at 4:00, right?"

"Huh? No Dean you're not late. You're right it's at 4:00, but I thought you may want to come earlier."

"Why? What happened?"

"Sam sort of decided to try his hand at making his head a battering ram," the doctor tried to make his response light. The older sibling had a tendency to go ape wild quickly when it concerned his little brother's wellbeing.

"He what?" Dean was confused. "Battering ram? Did he hit his head?" He barked into the phone.

"Well," the doctor hedged a second. "I think a closer description would be he repeatedly knocked it into his bedroom wall. He's been admitted to the Medical Wing with a moderate concussion."

"Sonofabitch!" Dean hissed. "You were supposed to be looking out for him. How bad is it? God, he's not in a …" he couldn't even voice the word _coma_. The doctor seemed to understand what word had been deleted.

"No, Dean, there's no coma. Our staff neurologist thinks he'll start to wake up in another hour or two, and he's says Sam will be just fine. He took six stitches in his forehead, but he's going to be okay."

"What the hell happened? What do you people do? He shouldn't have been able to hurt himself," Dean's anger was evident in his voice.

"I know," the doctor conceded. "I take full responsibility. He became a little upset in his session today, and I gave him a mild sedative, but I didn't have him restrained because he wasn't combative, but when I came to check on him he was in a withdrawn state and was saying 'no' over and over and he was knocking his head against the wall. Look, it's my fault, okay. The sedative can in some patients cause sleep walking and in your brother's case most likely allowed him to remain in his dream state and act it out in the real world. It won't happen again Dean."

"I'm on my way," he ground out over the phone line. "And, I better not get any shit for wanting to see him. Fuck these four days away from him shit. I'm seein' him." Marcus grimaced to himself. Dean Winchester was beyond angry and he knew he was at the front lines of that rage.

"Yes, of course," Dr. Winters agreed quickly. "And, I'm sorry; I really thought separating the two of you even for the short term might jump start his recovery. It was a poor decision on my part."

"You're damn right it was a poor decision. I should have never agreed to it, shit!" Dean hissed into the phone. Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose as Dean hissed into the phone his rage practically dripping out of the phone.

"I'll be waiting for you in the South Wing where the Medical Unit is located, alright?" The doctor decided he'd be as brief as possible, so Dean didn't become anymore agitated than he already was.

"Whatever," Dean's tone was clipped as he slammed the phone down. Marcus sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. Dean was a lot like John and just as fierce. He was going to have his hands full.

**One Hour Later, the Medical Wing**

Dean sat in a hard plastic chair next to Sam's bed. The reassuring calm beep of the heart monitor was calming Dean. He had spent thirty minutes with Dr. Winters when he'd first arrived and then he'd been introduced to Dr. Nish who was in charge of Sam's care while in the Medical wing. He could still feel his blood pressure coming down after his loud venting session with Dr. Winters. He looked at Sam's peaceful face and still managed to feel a sense of loss for a little brother he feared may be too broken to ever fully mend and be what he had been. Dean shook his head and let out a frustrated sigh. "It's a damn good thing that yellow-eyed bastard is sitting in hell Sammy," Dean whispered his thoughts out loud. "If that sucker wasn't banished for a millennia I'd track his ass to the ends of the earth because of what facing him did to you." Dean's eyes were haunted. "Sammy, I know you did the ritual because you felt it was the only way to buy us, hell, the world some time to figure out a way to face the bastard when he comes back, but you know what kiddo, the price was too high. It's not your job to save mankind." He reached up and stroked his brother's forehead. He frowned at the two steri-strips covering the six stitches at his hairline.

"I ripped Dr. Winters a new one. You got hurt on his watch and…" Dean's voice broke off as Sam stirred in the bed. "Sammy? Sammy, can you hear me?" He watched Sam turn his head toward his voice, but his eyes remained closed. "Hey, Sammy, come on little brother, open those puppy eyes of yours," he said with a smile. He watched Sam's eyes flutter toward consciousness and open slowly. Dark eyes settled on hazel-green.

"Hey," Sam whispered through a dry throat. Dean smiled warmly at his younger sibling.

"Hey, yourself," Dean replied softly. "How's your head?" Sam scrunched his face in response.

"Headache," he answered simply. He finally took notice of the different surroundings as coherency settled over the fog from waking up. His eyes darted around and he tried to sit up, but was prevented by the restraints. He looked hard at the restraints and gave them an irritated yank. "Get these the hell of me," he spat as he jerked them again.

"Calm down, Sammy," Dean stood instantly. "I'll get them off, okay. Stop pulling on them," he commanded. "You'll hurt yourself."

"What the hell is going on?" Sam demanded. "I'm not some fuckin' loon that needs tied up," he asserted. Sam studied Dean's carefully masked expression as he proceeded to undo the restraints binding Sam to the bed. "Answer me!"

"Sam," a voice from the doorway inserted itself into the moment. It was Dr. Winters. "You need to calm down and act rationally, alright? This isn't your brother's fault. He wasn't the one to put you in the restraints. It was me. I was afraid you'd hurt yourself again." Sam looked at the man with a confused face.

"What are you talking about? I didn't…" he stopped speaking as his eyes shifted around the room more fully as he sat up when the last restraint had been removed. "Where am I? This isn't my room."

"No, you're in the Medical wing getting treatment for a concussion. And, you have some stitches on your forehead." The doctor offered simply.

"Concussion?" Sam questioned absently. "But, I don't … what happened?" Sam lifted his hand and let tentative fingers feel for the wound the doctor spoke of.

"Sammy, be careful," Dean gently pulled his brother's hand away from irritating the fresh stitches. "It's just six stitches, okay. Leave em' alone."

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"I imagine the sedative we gave you allowed you to sleep walk," Dr. Winters replied. "You weren't being combative, so I didn't have you restrained. This is my fault. You were able to hurt yourself."

"I did this to myself?" Sam turned scared eyes toward his big brother.

"It's gonna be okay Sammy," Dean assured. "I'm just glad you got a hard head." He quipped trying to soften the tense moment.

"What'd I do?"

"Um," Dean began and stopped the doctor from adding his two cents when it looked like he was about to speak. "You decided to drum out _Stairway to Heaven_ on the wall in your room, but with your head," Dean offered lightly. "We might want to take that show on the road," he threw in when he saw the fear slipping into his brother's eyes and wanted to chase it away any way he could. It worked slightly as he watched Sam's eyes soften just a fraction and the faintest hint of a smile turned up the edges of his mouth, and he was avoided with one dimple.

"I bashed my own head?"

"Yeah, but it's over now," Dean reached up and gently grasped his brother's forearm and squeezed. The doctor stepped further into the room.

"Sam, as soon as you're released from the Medical unit we'll get you settled back in your room and start with your sessions, okay? We'll get you sorted out." Sam shifted his gaze from the doctor back to his brother looking for assurances that he only trusted coming from his big brother. Dean smiled and gave a small nod.

"Okay, Sammy?" Dean spoke.

"Yeah," Sam felt confused and afraid, but he'd trust Dean that this was the right place for him, at least for now. "I don't want those anymore," Sam flicked a dangling restraint with a free hand. "I'm not crazy."

"No, you're not crazy," the doctor replied with a small smile. He had always hated the term _crazy_. "But, Sam I've mentioned your disassociation episodes and sometimes you become combative and you could become a danger to yourself or others. Unfortunately, right now they are a necessary evil. After your latest episode I'd like to use them when you're sleeping, otherwise, I'll have to assign a night caregiver who will have to sit and watch you while you sleep to insure your safety." Sam shook his head.

"I don't need a babysitter."

"Sammy," Dean's voice chimed in. "Look, I know you don't need a sitter, but you could have really hurt yourself, so can you humor your big brother and let them use the restraints at night. It's not forever." Sam's face was crestfallen, but he acquiesced to his brother's request only because he could see the deeply buried concern Dean was trying so hard to mask from him. Sam nodded.

"That's my boy," Dean replied as he gently rubbed Sam's forearm and patted it before lifting his hand. Sam looked at his brother and Dean noticed it was a questioning look. "What?"

"I thought you were staying away for a few days. I remember that," Sam replied quietly. "So, I could have time with the doc," Sam shifted his gaze to the doctor and back to his brother. "That was said, right?"

"Yeah, Sammy, but I'm comin' everyday. I already talked to the doc." Dean cast a hard look at the doctor and Sam noticed.

"It's not his fault Dean," Sam suggested.

"Your brother's right to be upset with me Sam. A patient doesn't come into a medical facility to be injured, but to be healed." The doctor was pleased that Sam appeared to be very lucid and engaging with conversation, but Sam was the proverbial still waters, and he worried that a deadly undertow lie just beneath the surface.

"The doc for your head said he'll release you in a day or so Sammy to go back to your room." Dean didn't feel like discussing the whole Sam hurting himself situation again. He was still so pissed that he just wanted to pop, but wouldn't for his brother's sake.

"Yeah, okay," Sam relented.

"How do you feel Sam," Dr. Winters tried to gauge his patient's true emotional state.

"I'm fine, I guess. I got a headache, but I've had worse, so no big deal." The over head lights in Sam's room flickered.

"Damn electrical," the doctor grumbled. "They've been rewiring this wing," Dr. Winters commented. "They're scheduled to finish up this week though and then these little disturbances will stop." It wasn't until the sound of an erratic heart monitor beeping wildly that the doctor even knew there was a problem. He turned his eyes toward Sam.

Dean was standing and had cupped his brother's face in his hands. "It's okay Sammy. They're working on the electricity. It's okay. You're having a panic attack. Calm down, you're okay." Dean knew the flickering lights had triggered a fear response in his brother even if Sam wasn't aware of the reason. Dean knew it was a buried memory of the demon. Sam wouldn't be calmed. His breathing was coming in short rapid pants as his face drained of all coloring. He began shaking violently as if he'd just been pulled from the waters of a frozen lake. The doctor cast a worried glance at Sam's monitors.

"Sam listen to your brother," Dr. Winters urged. He watched Sam's oxygen monitor drop to 90 as the youth continued to pant nearing a dangerous hyperventilation episode that more closely resembled a full blown asthma attack. It was when he witnessed Sam's heart rate monitor hit 175 that he pressed the blue alert button on the wall alerting the staff in the Medical unit that they had a code situation. Sam began rearing back in his bed as if trying to escape himself. He arched his head back as if searching for air and began clawing at his chest while his eyes had become wild and absent.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled. "Do something!" He barked at the doctor just as Dr. Nish came running in with the unit's code team. Dean cast one more glance at Sam as he was ushered out of the room. Sam was pale, his eyes filled with an absolute fear as his lips turned a pale hint of blue as he panted and wheezed in short, rapid breaths. The sound of his little brother's rapidly racing heart monitor was the last thing he heard before he was pushed out into the hallway and the door closed.

**To Be Continued**

**I hope you're still enjoying the story. I'm working on chapter seven. Thanks for reading! **


	7. Between a Precipice and a Hard Place

Disclaimer: refer to chapter one

**NOTE TO READERS: **I hope you enjoy this newest chapter. It's a little longer than the previous chapter. There is a good amount of medical jargon and drug names in this chapter, but I tried to explain things are they are happening so you don't feel too overwhelmed with information. Enjoy the update, I hope. Thanks for the reviews of the previous six chapters. I appreciate it!!

**Chapter Seven**

**Between a Precipice and a Hard Place**

By Dawn Nyberg

The sound of his little brother's rapidly racing heart monitor was the last thing he heard before he was pushed out into the hallway and the door closed. Dean paced up and down the hallway never straying too far. It had been over twenty minutes now that he'd waited for a single word on Sam. He had given up on trying to hear anything through the door. He'd heard a muffled command of 'IV Push', but didn't hear what drug they were injecting into his brother not that he'd know anyway. He couldn't shake the mental image of Sam in the violent throes of a full out panic attack. He could still hear the horrible short gasping noise his brother had been making when he was shoved out of the room. He closed his eyes for a moment trying to clear the image of Sam's lips taking on a pale hue of blue.

"Respiratory STAT," a voice paged over head and echoed in the empty hallway. "Respiratory STAT, Room 121M … Respiratory STAT Room 121M…" Dean turned panicked eyes to his brother's door and his stomach fell to his feet as his heart climbed up into his throat. The number on Sam's door was 121M. He was frozen in place just staring when he saw a young girl in pink scrubs run past him pushing a cart with various equipment and tubing jostling about as she pushed open his brother's door and went in. He finally found the nerve impulses he needed to move and took urgent steps toward his brother's door. He started to push the door open and had managed a crack before a nurse stepped into his view effectively blocking any potential view of Sammy. In fact, even if the nurse hadn't stepped in his path he doubted he'd be able to make out his brother because he was completely surrounded by medical personnel.

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait outside," she spoke firmly but not unkindly.

"Like hell," Dean hissed. "That's my brother in there," he replied. "I want to know what's happening, and no one is telling me a damn thing." A sympathetic look ghosted across her face for a moment.

"Wait here and I'll see if one of his doctors can speak with you." She closed the door and left him there to pace in small tight circles by the door. And, a couple minutes later Dr. Winters came outside.

"Dean," Dr. Winters motioned for Dean to move away from his brother's door and before he could say another word he saw Dean's blazing eyes.

"What the hell is going on in there? What are you people doing to him? Answer me!"

"Well, are you going to let me get a word in edge wise?" The doctor's tone was clipped. He understood Dean's anger, but he'd had enough and he could see the eldest sibling was barely holding it together and he didn't need him cracking under the pressure. Dean gave a curt nod and silenced himself by biting the inside of his left cheek. "Thank you," the doctor replied. "Well, Sam had a panic attack triggered as you already figured out. Why would the flickering lights cause such a strong reaction?"

"The demon," Dean spoke in a low tone. "It seems whenever it is about to show up there are electrical disturbances like flickering lights among other stuff," Dean ran a hand through his short hair. "How's Sam? His lips were turning blue."

"His attack was so acute that he triggered a bronchial spasm and was headed toward respiratory arrest, but we were able to get the spasm under control and called in respiratory and he's receiving a breathing treatment right now to help reduce the inflammation the spasm caused."

"So, he's breathing on his own right? No tube down his throat?"

"No," the doctor shook his head. "He's breathing on his own. We gave him a mild anti-anxiety injection and he's calmed somewhat. His heart rate and blood pressure are still slightly elevated, but I'm happy to say his heart rate is in a much better range than before."

"So, he's really okay?" Dean let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"In terms of this current health crisis, yes," Dr. Winters hedged. "But, your brother is far from okay Dean."

"I know," Dean relented and dropped his eyes from the doctor and looked at the closed door to his brother's room.

"Dean, do you have any ideas at all concerning why you think Sam would remember Manning, Colorado and everything that preceded it, but nothing after. What significant events happened? I know you told me briefly, but…"

"It's a long list doc," Dean answered flatly.

"Well, I have time, and it'll probably be another hour or so before you're aloud in to see Sam. Let's talk." The doctor motioned for Dean to follow him and he nodded reluctantly as he followed the man.

**Two Hours Later, Medical Unit, Sam's Room **

Dean sat watching Sam sleep. His throat still felt tight when he allowed himself to think about the drawing the doctor had shown him in his office. Dean had talked about the last two years and even a little before that with the doctor to fill the man in and give him a better road map toward helping Sam. But, when Dr. Winters had mentioned Sam's first session and had told Dean he asked Sam to draw a picture or Dean or something that represented him. The doctor had slid the paper with the yellow sun on it across his large desk toward him. Dean had looked at it with a raised eyebrow, but then the doctor had told him that when he asked Sam why he chose to draw a sun to represent his big brother that Sam had answered 'he makes the dark go away' had shaken Dean to his core.

"Dammit Sammy," Dean whispered. "I just want you to be okay, and you're not," he dropped his head into his hands as he leaned forward propping his elbows on Sam's bed.

"Dean?" The voice was quiet and scratchy. Dean's head shot up and he met eyes with his younger brother.

"Sammy? Hey there kiddo," his voice softened and held a reassuring tone. "How ya feelin'?" Sam squinted as if thinking about his answer before he spoke.

"Been better, I think," he managed with the barest hint of a smile. Dean couldn't help but notice that the smile didn't reach his little brother's eyes. He missed Sammy's eyes. They were always expressive and so full of life. These eyes were dull, and there wasn't a light in them.

"You scared the hell out of me you know?" Dean countered.

"Sorry," Sam remembered the panic attack, but couldn't remember what set it off. The flickering lights had pushed some button he knew, but why he couldn't figure out. And, he didn't feel like thinking about it too much. "Dean?" Sam's voice was hesitant as he stared at his hands not looking at his big brother. He traced the thin white scar on the palm of his left hand trying to recall where and when he'd received that injury.

"Yeah?"

"What's wrong with me?" His voice sounded broken.

"Sammy, there's nothing wrong with you, okay? I mean not like you're thinking. Your head's just in a bad place right now that's all and Dr. Winters is going to help. Me too, I'm not going anywhere."

"But, why's my head in a bad place right now? Why am I here? The doc said something about my head, but that I didn't have a head injury, so what's he talking about? Did I go flip out or something? Dammit, why can't I remember?" Sam turned pleading eyes to his brother and smacked the mattress in frustration.

"Okay, first off don't get yourself all worked up, alright? It won't do you any good." Dean reached up and placed a reassuring hand on his brother's forearm.

"You're not answering my questions?" Sam studied his brother. "Why am I here … exactly?"

"Sam, I can't okay. The doc said you have to remember on your own. You'll have more sessions with him okay? It's gonna be alright."

"How'd I get this?" Sam asked suddenly showing Dean his palm. It took Dean a second to catch up with his brother's train of conversation and thought. His little brother was all over the place. "How Dean? I don't remember this."

"It was cut, and you had some stitches," he offered bluntly without any real embellishments."

"Cut how?" Sam pressed.

"It was an accident Sam," Dean started. "You had my hunting knife and you cut yourself. No big deal." Sam studied the scar. It was thin and white, no longer pink and new.

"It's not a new scar Dean," Sam continued to study his hand and suddenly it occurred to him and he turned frightened eyes to his older sibling. "How long have I been here Dean." Sam watched his brother look away and saw his jaw muscles tighten. "How long?!" Sam shouted.

Dean turned pleading eyes toward his brothers. His gaze was begging his little brother to stop. Not to push. Sam saw the hesitation and it made a panic creep up into his chest. "Sammy, just relax. It's not important right now. Later, okay?"

"Screw that," Sam hissed. "How long have I been here? This scar looks like its months old. Jesus, Dean … talk to me." Dean shook his head.

"No, Sam. Just let it go for now. Look I'll get the doc for you." Dean started to get up to go get Dr. Winters.

"No!" Sam shouted. "Is it months old? It looks it." Sam's eyes widened and he felt his heart begin to palpitate in his chest. "Months," he gasped out. The realization settled over him like a tidal wave. He felt pulled under the swift current and he was suffocating under the torrent of emotional waves. His heart monitor alarm went off and a red light began to flash. Dean's eyes darted toward the screen and saw a rhythm warning of some sort. The screen said PVC.

"Sammy calm down," Dean reached out to touch his brother, but Sam jerked away.

"Months," he yelled. "I've been here months haven't I?" Sam began gasping and clutching at his chest as his heart monitor began to beep wildly as the alarm continued to sound. The door to Sam's room pushed open and Doctor Nish and Dr.Winters came running in followed by medical staff. Dean watched Sam's eyes roll back into his head as he collapsed back against his pillow. His head lulled to the side and Dean felt fear grip him for the second time tonight. He knew he was being gently guided out of his little brother's room and he felt in a haze. It wasn't until he was halfway down the hall that he realized Dr. Winters was gently guiding him toward the small waiting area in the Medical unit.

"Sit Dean, please," Dr. Winters watched Dean closely. The young man was pale and sweating. He took Dean's wrist in his hand and timed his pulse. "Dean, listen to me you have to calm down, okay? Your heart rate is through the roof. Take slow easy breaths, easy …" Dean focused on the man's voice and took in a shuddering breath feeling the doctor lower his head gently toward his knees. "Easy does it," the doctor encouraged. "Keep your head down … just relax."

"What happened in there?" Dean finally asked as he ran a shaky hand through his hair. "Another panic attack? He asked how long he's been here," Dean's voice shook. "I tried doc, I did," his voice was pleading. "I tried to make him let go of it, but that damn scar on his hand he knew he didn't have it before and that it was old. Shit," Dean hissed under his breath.

"Dean," Dr. Winters started. "Neither of us ever anticipated your brother noticing the scar on his palm, and I certainly never thought he'd have the presence of mind to analyze how old the scar was," the doctor offered a mild smile. "What's done is done. And, now we deal with the fallout." There were footsteps in the hallway and they both looked up. Marcus Winters recognized the staff cardiologist, Dr. Stowe. "Wait a minute Dean," the doctor stood up and met his colleague and pulled him to the side away from Dean and out of immediate earshot. "Were you paged for Sam Winchester?"

"Hi Marcus," Greg Stowe replied. "Yeah, I got a cardiac page for him. Is he yours?"

"Yeah, he was put in for overnight observation for a concussion. But, he had a panic attack earlier, and then another that precipitated a cardiac event, but I was under the impression it was under control when I stepped out. What's going on?"

"Dr. Nish paged me and said his cardiac status is having problems stabilizing. He keeps having runs of PVC's even with the lidocaine. So, I'm here to consult and most likely start him on an IV course of an antiarrhythmic."

"Go," Dr. Winters encouraged. "Please, fill me in as soon as possible. That's his older brother I'm with, so he's biting at the bit, okay? And," the doctor put a hand on his friend's arm to stop him. "Take care of him, alright? He's a good kid."

"Sure thing Marcus." Dean stood up and walked toward Dr. Winters as the other physician disappeared into his little brother's room.

"What's happening? What's wrong? Who was that?" Dean fired off questions in rapid fire succession.

"Easy, Dean," the doctor urged. "I'll tell you what I know." He smiled at Dean and directed him back to the seats in the small waiting area. "That was Dr. Stowe he's the staff cardiologist."

"A heart doctor," Dean's voice barked. "What's wrong with Sam's heart? That damn monitor was saying something like PVC when I was pushed out. He passed out," Dean's eyes were wide and panicked. "His heart," he stuttered. "It didn't stop did it?" His eyes were glistening with unshed tears.

"No, no, his heart is beating," the doctor assured. "That monitor will label the rhythm. And, when Sam panicked his heart had an adverse reaction. It's sort of an episode of palpitations, but not. The monitor abbreviation of PVC was to alert the staff that Sam was having what is called premature ventricular contractions. It's essentially an irregular heart beat. Sam lost consciousness because his PVC's were over six per minute and then he was having what we call a run of multiple pairs." Dean's face was confused. "All that means is that at one point Sam was having over six palpitations per minute and when I talk about pairs it just means that the PVC's came in quick succession with one another, partners, if you will, understand?"

"Sam has a good heart," Dean's voice was hesitant. "What's happening to him?"

"Dean," Dr. Winters began. "Sam is having very acute panic attack episodes that are having a huge impact on his health. The bronchia spasm from earlier and now the PVC's are both concerns. His panic attack obviously made him hypertensive and the acute episode triggered the PVC's. We're just going to have to monitor him. His body is having violent and dangerous reactions to both his memories revisited in sleep and now with his acute panic attacks. He's already had respiratory failure and cardiac arrest from what you and I both assumed was a visceral memory of him being strangled during a hunt. I'll be keeping a close eye on him. I'm going to try some new medications to help with the panic attacks and we may have to keep him mildly sedated, but keep him functioning. I've never had a case like your brother's Dean. I'm winging it a little, at least when it comes to how his body is reacting to memories. I've never had a patient go into cardiac arrest over a memory, and especially since the memory was recalled differently than it originally occurred."

"You mean because he didn't remember me saving him?" The doctor nodded. Dean dropped his head a moment trying to assimilate his emotions before they consumed him and he got right back on task. "Why was that doctor here for Sam if his heart is still beating? What's wrong with my brother?"

"Dr. Nish had him paged because Sam's heart keeps degenerating into an irregular heart beat despite the use of lidocaine. He just wants to make sure Sam is getting the best care."

"What if they can't stop these PVC things?" Dean studied the doctor's face intently.

"They will." He tried to assure Dean, but it was clear the kid wasn't buying it.

"I asked what if they can't. What happens?" The doctor sighed.

"If, and this is a big if … if Sam keeps having PVC's there is a chance that it could lead into an arrhythmia that may require advanced cardiac life support efforts."

"You mean is heart could stop, right? That's what you're saying." Dean barked.

"Could stop? Yes," Dr. Winters replied. "But I don't think it will. Dr. Stowe is very good, and if he has to he'll start Sam on an IV course of an antiarrhythmic drug to help regulate his rhythm and stop the PVC's." A nurse scooted down the hall past them as they sat in the chairs and Dean watched her go straight to his brother's room. She was carrying two IV bags in her hands. Dean looked at his watch and sighed.

"How much longer? That heart doc has been in there for a half hour now," Dean threw a glance that was a combination of concern, frustration and anger at the entire situation.

"I'll go see and try to get some news, okay? Just wait here Dean." The doctor saw Dean's look of despair. "He's going to be fine Dean." Marcus Winters smiled warmly as Dean offered a short nod. He turned to go get news about Sam. Dr. Winters opened the door and entered Sam's room.

"Yeah, start the first rapid loading infusion of the Cordarone," Dr. Stowe instructed as he continued to examine the EKG tape printing out of the side of the digital monitor. "Set the rate for 150 MG over the first ten minutes. Watch the kid for any hypertensive episodes. I don't want to push him into ventricular tachycardia."

Dr. Winters looked at Sam who still remained unconscious. "How is he Greg?" He stepped up alongside his friend and glanced at the cardiac activity monitor strip the cardiologist was examining.

"Well, I'm starting him on the Cordarone IV. He had a run on ten PVC's and it got a little tense in here. I thought he was going to code, but a high dose lidocaine converted him for a little while. It bought us some time for the Cordarone. I'm going to be honest," he started. "I'm not comfortable with the fact his PVC's appear lidocaine resistant. This could go bad very quickly if the situation decides to snowball." Marcus looked at his friend and colleague with urgency.

"Is he in immediate danger? I mean, his rhythm looks stable."

"Yeah, it is for the moment, but his cardiac activity is all over the place." The doctor looked at the clock and turned to the infusion nurse standing next to Dr. Nish who was examining Sam's pupils and trying to assess his patient's level of unconsciousness. "Pam," Dr. Stowe began. "It's time to move on from the rapid loading dose. Initiate the slow follow up dose. Infuse 360 mg over the next six hours, and set the infusion pump and lock it out. I don't want this kid getting more than 360 MG total. I have to see how he's going to tolerate this dosage increase."

"Programming and locking," the nurse replied.

"Are you worried that he won't tolerate it?" Dr. Winters asked with intensity.

"Well, it's a toss up," the doctor began. "I had some patient's crash within ten minutes and others have had some side effects while others are completely fine and respond well. We'll know within the next ten minutes or so. We'll be ready if something happens. I'm not leaving him until I know he's tolerating the drug. And, I'll be checking on him throughout the night. When the infusion is complete in six hours then I have to start him on a maintenance dose over eighteen hours, and that can cause problems too." Dr. Marcus Winters let out a sigh and ran a hand over his face.

"So, now we wait?" The cardiologist nodded. Marcus hated keeping Dean waiting, but he didn't have any solid news yet to take to him, so he'd wait to see how Sam reacted to the increase in the IV dosage.

**Twelve Minutes Later**

An alarm sounded and Dr. Stowe jerked his head toward the cardiac monitor. "He's got severe bradycardia … push atropine 1 mg."

"Atropine in," Dr. Nish called out. They all watched the heart monitor.

"Okay, heart rates coming back up," Dr. Stowe nodded his head and let out a breath.

"Are you stopping the Cordarone?" Marcus asked.

"Not yet, we may be in the clear. This was a mild reaction."

"Mild? His heart rate dropped to 42." The psychiatrist knew that cardiology wasn't his field, but he still had an M.D. the same as his friend and knew an adult male in his twenties with a heart rate in the forties was a bad thing, a very bad thing.

"His rate came back up to 64 within a minute of the atropine injection. He's okay. Let's just see how things go. So far he hasn't had anymore PVC's since we started the IV. At least, we're headed in the right direction."

"Marcus," Dr. Nish's voice broke in and Dr. Winters turned to his friend.

"Yes."

"I've been monitoring his brain activity since he lapsed into unconsciousness," the doctor indicated the electrodes he's placed on Sam's temples and forehead.

"I noticed earlier. Is something wrong?"

"I want to show you something," Dr. Nish motioned for his friend to come over and take a look at the EEG monitor.

"Go ahead," Dr. Stowe inclined his head. "I need to study his cardiac rhythm print out right now anyway to see if I can find any irregularities." Marcus nodded at Greg.

"What is it?"

"This," Dr. Nish pointed. "His activity has jumped in the last five minutes. I know he's unconscious, but there is something going on…" his voice trailed off.

"Like what?" Marcus cast a concerned gaze toward Sam's silent features. On the surface the young man looked peaceful and clearly unconscious.

"If I didn't know better I'd say this is activity resembles a high level of REM activity. It looks like dream activity of some sort, but it's all over the place. I can see extreme activity in the temporal lobe, the cerebral cortex. There's a lot of activity in his memory center." There was a sudden explosion of brain activity on the monitor and the waves became erratic and sharp as they danced across the screen.

An alarm sounded. "Shit, he's having a hypertensive episode," Dr. Stowe's voice broke suddenly as he drew up an injection of Vasotec. The heart monitor showed Sam's blood pressure had hit 250/190. Both Dr. Nish and Dr. Winters lowered Sam's bed and prepared for a code. "Vasotec is in," Dr. Stowe barked. He watched the monitor. He watched the automatic blood pressure cuff take a reading. "Come on," he said under his breath waiting for the injection to bring down his patient's pressure. "Pressure is coming down."

"Crap," Dr. Nish said to no one in particular. The doctors glanced at Sam's brain activity. There was a fire storm of waves filling the screen. Sharp waves going high and low in such quick succession that the screen was literally filled with brain waves akin to a child's wild scribbles. "Sonofabitch, he's seizing," Dr. Nish barked. "Push 5 mg Diazepam." There was a flurry of activity as the infusion nurse and another RN helped the three physicians. The seizure was violent as Sam arched and jerked his face grimacing even while unconscious. "Watch his airway, Christ!" Dr. Nish yelled. "Come on," he waited for the anticonvulsive medication to work.

**Meanwhile**

Dean paced around the small confines of the small waiting area like a caged tiger in a zoo. Dr. Winters had disappeared over twenty-five minutes ago and he still hadn't come out. He glanced with irritation and concern down the hallway toward his little brothers closed door. He sat down heavily in a chair and dropped his head into his hands. "Sammy," he whispered quietly to himself.

**Meanwhile, Sam's Room**

Sam's body began to relax and the seizure stopped. Dr. Stowe and Dr. Nish were both looking at their respective monitors. And, just as Dr. Winters was about to ask about Sam's status Shawn Nish tensed visibly. He saw the brain waves on Sam's monitor begin to dance wildly again. And, before the physicians could react their patient began seizing violently again. "Push another 5 of Diazepam," Dr. Nish commanded. Sam's body seized again and again.

"Diazepam in," Sondra, a staff nurse for the Medical unit called out to Dr. Nish. Sam's body continued to convulse.

Dr. Winters felt the situation growing graver. And, then he and Dr. Nish heard Greg Stowe call out urgently. "Get the damn seizure under control, now! He's gone into atrial flutter." The doctors glanced at Sam's heart monitor. "Get the seizure stopped," he commanded. "I'm pushing Procainamide for the flutter." Sam continued to seize.

"Dammit, give him another 10 of Diazepam," Dr. Nish called out. Sam's body finally slowed to a tremble and fell lax.

"Procainamide isn't stopping the atrial flutter I'm going to have to use cardioversion." Greg Stowe walked to the wall and rolled over the defibrillator. "He won't convert out of the flutter. His heart is going too fast. Charge to 80 Jules."

The room was in organized chaos, but Sam was somewhere else and the madness in the room would have been a welcome change.

Sam was back in the house and the voices and images assaulting him wouldn't let up. He stood in a room, it resembled a cabin. And, the voices were clear.

…_How is he? …_

…_He just needs some rest … How are you? …_

…_I'll live…_

…_It's you…We've been looking for you for a long time…_

…_Well, you found me…_

Yellow eyes and his father's face burned into his mind and he tried to run from the mental image, but there was no escape.

…_You kill me, you kill daddy…_

…_I know…_

He jerked at the sound of a gun going off. The sound ricocheted in his head. He covered his ears, but the noise was inside him like a cancer.

…_Dean, you've lost a lot of blood…_

…_Where's Dad? …_

…_Check on him…_

…_Shoot me in the heart son …I can't hold on to it much longer…_

…_Don't you do it …_

He pushed himself off the floor and threw the door open and ran into the hallway. He found some comfort in the white-grey walls, but the voices still followed him as they rose to a crescendo.

…_Why Sam …why…why…_

"No!" he shouted. He dropped to a corner and drew his knees up tightly and began to rock. His eyes caught the book once again and he released his legs and reached for the book. He found comfort tracing the word _brother_ it would protect him. He opened the book and traced the word over and over, but the voices were so loud and he felt like he was being pulled further into a dark void, but he resisted. He saw new words had been added to another page.

_Jefferson City, Sunrise, possession_

None of them made sense to him. They might as well have been another language. He went back to tracing his finger over _brother_. A noise and a light beneath a door in the hallway drew his attention. The voices had stopped and he got up. He stood outside the door for long minutes and turned the knob. It was a room that looked vaguely familiar. He saw two children's beds and an open window. He remembered being here once, but the memory was vague and someone was missing. He felt a presence and turned. He felt himself thrown against a wall and then suddenly he was looking into the eyes of a Shtriga as it held him down. And, part of him registered that Dean should be here, but he wasn't, and then the creature began to feed on his life force and he felt his life slip into a darkness he wasn't sure he'd escape.

**Meanwhile, Sam's Room**

"Clear!" Dr. Stowe yelled as he shocked Sam with the low Jules to convert his heart rate into a slower more regular rhythm. They watched the monitor and saw there was no change. "Okay, we're going again. 80 Jules, clear!" Sam chest arched upward in response to the cardiac shock delivered from the paddles.

"We've got sinus rhythm," Dr. Winters replied with a sense of relief.

"Yep," Dr. Stowe confirmed casually. "He's converted from the atrial flutter." The room seemed to take a breath. All the doctors thinking the worst had past.

Sam stared into the cold eyes of the Shtriga as his life ebbed away into darkness. He heard a voice whispering, but it was so quiet …

…_you okay, little brother…_

and the darkness pulled him under before he could stop it and just as the void consumed him he knew the voice was his brother, but the shadow consumed the fleeting light and Sam sunk into the oblivion.

"Respiratory arrest," Dr. Nish barked. He moved briskly around Sam and proceeded to call out orders to the respiratory technician for an intubation kit and deftly dropped a breathing tube down Sam's throat and within a couple minutes Sam was already breathing with a measured, mechanical click and whoosh as the ventilator breathed for him.

"Does someone want to tell me what the hell is going on here?" Marcus Winters demanded.

**Two Hours Later, Family Conference Room**

Dean sat numbly across from the three doctors that were treating his brother. His mind was still trying to understand how everything had gone so bad, so quickly. The heart medication had caused Sam to have a blood pressure crisis and it had caused a vascular bleed in his brain that had already self clotted. He had had two major seizures. And, the last seizure had irritated is brother's heart to the point he'd need a mild shock to convert it into a slower rhythm, and now Dr. Winters and Dr. Nish said Sam had slipped into a coma and was on a ventilator. He felt the bile rising in his throat and swallowed it back down.

"I know this is a lot Dean, but the coma isn't a typical coma. Sam is having extreme moments of brain activity and then he'll drop into a minimal level of activity more appropriate to coma." Dr. Winters tried to explain. He could see that Dean looked shell-shocked.

"The Cordarone has stabilized his PVC activity," Dr. Stowe threw his two cents in.

"But, it's that drug that started all of this," Dean spat.

"Yes, it precipitated the hypertensive episode and the vascular bleed, but neither of those side effects were the cause of the coma or respiratory arrest."

"You know what," Dean hissed. "I don't give a flying fuck who is to blame. I want my brother awake and not hooked up to some damn machine breathing for him. He was a little messed up in his head," Dean's hands moved restlessly on the table. "But, at this rate you're all going to kill him. Dammit, you broke him," he spat. "You fix him!" Dean knew the statement must have sounded stupid and infantile, but all he knew is that his brother was speaking a few hours ago and now he was in some kind of coma and breathing through a tube. Dean dropped his head and leaned into his hands with his elbows propped on the conference room table.

Dr. Winters motioned for the others to leave and he moved over and dropped a hand onto Dean's forearm. "You said he was going to be fine," Dean's voice was broken as he spoke. He kept his head down not meeting the doctor's eyes. Dr. Winters grimaced at the young man's words. He had said that previously in the hall when he'd gone in to check on Sam before everything had gone to hell in a hand basket.

"I know," he agreed. "Sam is strong Dean and he's going to come out of this."

"You don't know that," Dean's head shot up as his eyes blazed at the doctor pulling his arm away from the man's grasp. "He's trapped in his head again. Who knows what he's remembering or going through. You don't understand what's happening to him, so don't tell me he's going to come out of this when you don't know a damn thing!" Dean's voice ground out with venom.

Dr. Marcus Winters could only nod. His chest cold with the thought Sam Winchester may be lost beyond finding, but he wouldn't give up. He knew enough to know he wasn't fighting for the life of one brother, but two.

**To Be Continued**

**I hope you liked that chapter. Thanks for sticking with it, so far. I'm still planning on being done with a total of ten chapters, but I'm not sure. I may have to go over a little, but we'll see. I might still be able to complete it in three remaining chapters. I hope to hear from you, but if I don't that's quite alright. I just hope you're still enjoying the story. Thanks again!**


	8. Detours of the Mind

Disclaimer: refer to chapter one

**NOTE TO READERS: **Thank you to every reader that took the time to read and review the previous chapter. It's appreciated. I had some fantastic comments, thanks! I'm happy to hear that so many readers are enjoying this latest story. It's still my hope to end at chapter 10, but we'll see. I'm hopeful. I hope you enjoy this newest installment!

**Side Note:** Don't forget to watch "Bloodlust" tonight on the CW.

**Chapter Eight**

**Detours of the Mind **

By Dawn Nyberg

**Two Days Later, Sam's Room**

"What's that for?" Dean asked with an accusing tone as he watched Dr. Nish follow a technician in with a large bulky machine.

"It's a portable chest x-ray Dean," Dr. Nish replied.

"What the hell for?" Dean's voice was threatening. He'd started questioning every procedure and medication going into his brother after the events of two days prior. He blamed the doctors for a large amount of his brother's condition. He glanced at Sam whose chest continued to rise and fall mechanically. He hadn't moved or responded to any stimuli since lapsing into coma.

"When I examined him yesterday I didn't like the sound of his lungs, but today they sound worse, so I want an x-ray."

"What'd you do to him? His lungs were fine before all this crap." Dean stood up and protectively stood by Sam preventing the machine from advancing toward his brother.

"Dean, I understand your feelings…"

"Do you?" Dean hissed. The doctor put up a placating and apologetic hand.

"Okay, I don't. Wrong choice of words."

"Damn straight," Dean growled.

"But, Dean, the x-ray isn't going to hurt him, and I feel it really needs to be done … for your brother's sake." Dean cast anguished eyes toward his little brother and stepped aside to allow the test.

**Thirty Minutes Later**

Dean sat at his brother's bedside holding his hand and stroking his bangs gently. It reminded him of when they were little and Sam had trouble sleeping on nights their father was away on a hunt. He'd stroke Sam's forehead and bangs and he'd always drift off to sleep. He smiled at the warm memory. He glanced at the EEG monitor that Sam was always hooked up to as it measured and recorded his brain activity. It was quiet right now and had been for a couple days. He hadn't had another episode since everything had happened. Before they had said Sam was in an atypical coma with moments of extreme activity and then minimal activity more conclusive of a true coma. "Hey Sammy," Dean whispered softly. "How about you give your big brother a break and open those eyes of yours. How about it, huh?" He watched and waited, but there was no movement, no flutter … only the consistent beep of Sam's heart monitor and the persistent click and whoosh of the ventilator that breathed for him. "What's happening in your head?" He studied his brother's silent features. "Sammy, please…" his voice caught in his throat as hot tears stung his eyes.

The door opened and Dr. Nish came in hurriedly with and IV bag. "What are you doing?" Dean demanded.

"I'm starting Sam on a strong course of IV antibiotics," Dr. Nish answered as he hung the bag.

"For what?"

"His chest x-rays," the doctor began. "I thought I heard consolidations in both lungs, but I couldn't believe it developed so quickly…"

"What?" Dean demanded.

"Pneumonia," the doctor replied. "Sam has pneumonia. It's a pretty bad case, too. I've never seen it come on so quickly. His lungs were perfectly clear two days ago." Dean stood up abruptly as his mind processed what he was hearing. He looked at Sam with concerned eyes as a memory bloomed in his mind … a memory of Fitchburg a couple of years ago.

"Bacterial pneumonia," Dean's voice sounded detached as he continued to look at his little brother. Dr. Nish turned curious eyes to the older sibling.

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Dean turned and looked at the doctor with intense eyes.

"You're sure," he demanded.

"Yeah, the blood work from earlier confirmed it, but…" His words tapered off as he saw Dean head toward the door. "Where are you going?"

"I'll be back." Dean called out over his shoulder. He was headed for Dr. Winters office.

**Ten Minutes Later, Dr. Winters Office**

"A Shtriga, really? I've heard of them, but never encountered one. Nasty mothers, right? And, the children all presented with symptoms that mimicked bacterial pneumonia and all lapsed into comas and died?"

"Well, the ones from years before, yeah? But, I killed the bitch and the life forces returned to kids or something … I don't know," Dean rubbed a hand across his tired eyes. "All I know is they got better when it died."

"And, it fed off of Sam the night you killed it?"

"Yeah, it was feeding on him when I killed it. He was okay," Dean commented. "It's just with the pneumonia and the coma … do you think?" Dean's voice trailed off.

"Do I think that Sam could have relived another memory from his past like the strangulation? Well, it's as good a guess as any. And, it makes sense."

"But, he hasn't forgotten those memories, why relive them? He just doesn't remember past Manning."

"Dean … the mind is a complex thing and perhaps as he accesses memories that exist behind the wall he's built he's reliving other old ones he does remember, but they're broken, as well. Maybe, his mind is getting at the lost information by accessing visceral memories that are acting as catalysts to reaching the lost memories. Make sense?"

"I don't know," Dean looked at the doctor with a raised eyebrow. "Does it make sense to you?" Dr. Winters couldn't suppress the chuckle despite the seriousness of the situation. He suppressed his chuckle quickly.

"Yeah, well, your brother's case as I've said before is rather unique."

"But, Sammy's getting sicker. The kids from before … they got sicker, weaker, and died in comas."

"Dean, talk to him and try to reach him. I think you're the only one who can. We'll handle the life support aspect of his condition. Talk to him. You saved him from the Shtriga before … make him hear you."

**Three Hours Later, Sam's Room**

Dean sat watching his brother. Sam had continued to deteriorate over the last couple hours. His vitals had become more unstable and it seemed to Dean that he had very little alone time with his little brother. Medical personnel were coming in every few minutes or so to check monitors, adjust drip rates, and take Sam's vitals. Dean watched everything the nurse did while in the room. His eyes followed her silently around Sam's bed. She met his eyes once and offered a small smile. He simply nodded. He watched her leave the room and finally he hoped he'd have some time with his brother before there was another intrusion.

"Sammy? Can you hear me?" Dean reached up and stroked his forehead. "You feel that Sammy? I need you to hear me little brother. You have to fight this kiddo," he urged. "What you think is happening or happened, whatever," he let out a frustrated sigh. "It didn't okay? You just have to realize that you can come back from this … that you can fight. Sammy, I was there … remember? I killed that life sucking bitch. Sammy," his voice was pleading.

…_Sammy…_

The voice settled over him like a soft summer breeze and it soothed him. The darkness had embraced him and he had found it eerily comforting. The voices of the empty house were silent and the images gone. There was peace here and allowing it to embrace him felt right. Sam Winchester listened, but the voice was gone and maybe letting the oblivion consume him was right, was good … there was peace on the other side he was sure of it.

Dean looked at his brother's heart rate and could see it had dropped. "Dammit," he hissed. "You fight damn you. I'm not losin' you too. I can't …" his voice stammered. "I can't Sammy. Come on, please… Sammy." His voice cracked with the sheer emotion of the moment. Sam was slipping and he didn't know how to hold on to him. "Sammy, No!" His voice was commanding. "Please."

…_Sammy …No …Please…_

There was the voice again and he knew it was his brother. He focused completely on it and suddenly the darkness wasn't so complete and he edged toward a pale glow in the distance of his endless void.

Dean looked nervously at the heart monitor and watched 52 suddenly climb to 60 and remain there. He smiled. "Sammy? I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, okay? Please, keep fighting. You're not alone." He held his brother's cool limp hand in his own as he stroked the thin white scar with his thumb.

…_Sammy… I'm here… you're not alone…_

Sam found himself back in the house curled in a corner. The book was only inches from his fingertips and he reached out for it. He looked around confused at the sudden change of absolute nothingness to the same white-gray walls he knew too well. He pulled himself up and opened the book. He traced his finger as he always did … over and over the single word _brother_ and it calmed him.

…_I'll summon her … she'll come after me…_

…_you know what? … That's it…_

The voices filtered down the hallway and something was familiar. He walked to a closed door and pushed it open. He found himself standing in a dark room lit only by the dim light coming from street lamps through the store window. He was facing a mirror and looking at himself, but his reflection looked defiant and its eyes began to bleed.

…_You left her alone to die …you dreamed it would it happen…_

A crushing pain filled Sam's head and flared across his chest. He clutched at it as he dropped to his knees as the voice repeated its tirade.

…_You left her alone to die… you dreamed it would happen…_

Dean noticed Sam's EEG monitor had begun to flash and seconds later Dr. Neff ran into the room. "What's happening?"

"His brain activity is through the roof," the doctor replied. Other alarms began to sound. "What the hell?" The doctor shouted as he saw blood begin to run from the corners of Sam's eyes. Blood tears. And, it was quickly followed by thick streams coming from his nose. "Jesus!"

"Sammy!" Dean yelled. "Sam it's not real." He recognized this and he felt his heart begin to hammer in his chest. His memory of Bloody Mary was like a white hot poker in his brain. "Sammy!"

Medical staff poured into the room and Dean moved to a corner, but refused to leave. "He needs an MRI stat," he shouted. "Sonofabitch! Get him off the vent and start bagging him we gotta hustle people. He may be having a massive hemorrhage. I gotta see what's happening in his head." Additional alarms began to sound. They scooted out Sam's bed so they could have complete access at all angles. "Dammit we're losing him, he's crashing," Dr. Nish shouted.

Dean stared at the scene as staff began to work feverishly to save his brother's life. He watched them injecting drugs and listened to alarms ringing and buzzing. He pushed himself off the wall and pushed a nurse aside. He grabbed Sam's face avoiding the tube protruding out of his brother's mouth. A nurse stared wide-eyed at Dean as she continued to squeeze the bag delivering breaths to his brother. "Sammy! Don't do this! It's not real" he shouted.

"Dean, get away!" Dr. Nish bellowed. "We have to work," he yelled. Dean looked quickly at the doctor and all the doctor saw were wild, feral eyes of a sibling on the edge.

"Sammy! She's not real. You're okay." Dean felt strong hands pull at him to try and remove him from his brother. He jerked and threw an elbow back and felt it connect with flesh and heard a muffled 'oof'. He didn't care. He had to fight for Sammy and he had to do it now. "Sam! Let it go! It's over. Sammy!"

…_Sammy … it's not real…let it go…_

The voice of his brother broke through the pain and stopped his decent into the waiting darkness. The pain began to recede and before he closed his eyes he realized he was out of the room with mirrors and curled on the floor once again. He dropped his head on the floor and let sleep claim him.

The room fell into silence for a moment. The alarms stopped sounding and reverted back to there normal beeping and chirping. The only other sound was the whoosh of squeezed air from the ambu bag as the nurse continued to deliver breaths to Sam while off the ventilator. Dean stared at his brother's face with his hands still firmly on each cheek. "Dean," the voice was hesitant yet gentle. The young man finally broke eye contact with his brother's silent features and looked into the eyes of Dr. Winters. He could see the man's lip was bleeding and realized the physician's face must have been the contact point of his elbow. "Dean, you need to let go of him. They have to do an MRI to see if he's okay. Let Dr. Nish have him. He's stabilized for now Dean. But, you need to let him go." Dean stared at the man as he tried to hear the words. His voice sounded like he was speaking inside a metal barrel.

He felt in a fog as he released his hold on Sam's face and watched him placed on a trauma gurney and taken from the room followed by staff and IV poles. He felt himself guided gently toward a chair, but before he could take more than two steps he felt the world drop out from under him and his world spot around the edges and right before his world closed out completely, he heard Dr. Winters voice spike in urgency, "Dean!" and the welcoming darkness came.

**To Be Continued**

**Well, what did you think? Are you still enjoying the story? I hope you liked this chapter. Again, thanks to every reader that has taken the time to review one or all chapters they've read so far! And, thank you for reading. I'll update again next week. Thanks again!**


	9. If Wishes Were Fishes

Disclaimer: refer to chapter one

**NOTE TO READERS: **Thanks in advance for any and all reviews. I'm very thankful for every kind observation and comment that has been left on this story, thus far. Thank you! I hope you enjoy chapter 9 and I will try to start work on chapter 10 as soon as possible. Happy Holidays, a little early. Thanks again!

**Chapter Nine**

**If Wishes Were Fishes**

By Dawn Nyberg

Dean felt like he was floating as he slowly surfaced toward waking. He felt warm and comfortable. He almost didn't want to open his eyes, but there was something wrong and he knew it, so he continued toward waking. A steady beeping noise crept into his awareness and he focused on the sound. His eyes opened slowly and focused on the white ceiling above him.

"Welcome back," Ellen's voice broke through the fog. He turned his head slowly toward her voice. He looked at her for a long moment and said nothing as his brain tried to play catch up with the situation. "Dean, honey," Ellen's voice softened. "Can you hear me?"

"Yeah," his voice was a mere whisper as he spoke.

"Here," she leaned forward pouring some cool water into a cup with a straw for him. He reached out for it with a shaky hand. "No," she replied. "You're shaking like a leaf. I can hold it for you." She held the cup and straw as he drank. This wasn't the Ellen Harvelle he was familiar with, but he was thankful for her help. He leaned back into his pillow as his mind still tried to grasp at fragments.

"Thanks," his voice a little stronger.

"No problem. Well, you sure know how to scare the hell out of me Dean Winchester," she scolded. He frowned and looked around his room. He was attached to a heart monitor and wore a pulse-ox meter on his left index finger. He had a blood pressure cuff attached, as well. He saw the IV stand with multiple bags hanging.

"What the hell happened? Where am I?"

"You're at Stanton Memorial Hospital in the CICU," Ellen began. "Once Marcus and a Dr. Stowe stabilized you at the Center they called Care Flight for you and then Marcus called me to say you'd collapsed." Final memories before the blackness had swallowed him came flooding back and he jerked up in his bed.

"Sammy! Oh, God, I gotta get back to him. How long have I been out? Shit, he was headed for an MRI. He needs me. I gotta go." Dean tried to get up as his heart monitor began to beep rapidly.

"The hell you do? Your ass isn't moving from this damn bed," Ellen commanded. "You're going to lay there and do nothing. Sam is okay. Marcus is looking after him until you're out of here."

"He's okay? He's awake?" Dean's eyes were hopeful. Ellen listened as his heart monitor quieted slightly.

"No, he's still in the coma, but the MRI showed no bleeding. He's stabilized. Marcus visits with him during his day at the center and talks to him. The pneumonia responded to the antibiotics and cleared up quicker than they had ever seen before."

"Ellen he needs me there," his eyes were pleading. Dean knew why the pneumonia cleared, so quickly. It was a creation of Sam's mind that manifested and he had pulled him away from that memory.

"No, he needs you alive and healthy Dean. You've been burning the candle at both ends for so long that it finally caught up with you and your body is too stressed."

"What happened? You said I was in the CICU," Dean started. "That's the heart isn't?"

"Yes," Ellen answered bluntly. "You scared Marcus something fierce boy and me too."

"What happened?" Dean's mind was torn. He wanted to be at Sam's bedside. He knew and felt he was Sam's anchor, and his brother was the same for him, and it felt wrong not being at his side.

"Your cardiologist here at the hospital explained to me that you had a stress induced cardiac arrhythmia and your blood pressure shot up and down for a while. You had the staff on their toes here for a bit. They also said you were suffering from exhaustion."

"How long have I been here?" Dean looked at the clock in his room and it was just a little after 8:00 and from the small window he could tell it was night. "Is that clock right?"

"Yeah, it's right," Ellen replied.

"Then good, I've only been away from Sam for about four hours, so I can still get back. I'll take it easy."

"Dean, you weren't listening to me earlier were you? I said your ass isn't going anywhere. And, anyway, it's been longer than four hours."

"No," Dean pointed at the clock. "Sam was headed to the MRI a little after 4:00 PM, so…"

"Dean you've been unconscious for two days kiddo." Dean's eyes were wide.

"What? No, he needs me there Ellen. He could die if I'm not. He only listens to me. I get through to him." Dean struggled and Ellen placed both hands on Dean's chest holding him down.

"Dean! You can't leave here. You're here for a reason." She reached down and hit the call button. Dean continued to struggle as his heart monitor beeped a staccato rhythm and he began panting in short breaths. He continued to struggle under Ellen's hands and now there were new hands also holding him down as he fought. He watched a syringe get injected into the tubing of his IV and within seconds he felt a warm sensation flow into and up his arm and he sunk into a calming darkness with his brother's name on his lips.

"Damn he's strong," Dr. Giles commented as he released his hold on Dean. Ellen looked at him and smirked.

"Yeah," she replied. "Is he okay?"

"Well," the doctor began as he looked at Dean's monitor. "His heart rhythm is a little irritated, but it's regulating now that he's sedated. I'll be keeping an eye on him for the next hour or so to see if it stays regulated. His blood pressure is up again, so I'll give him something for that. He'll sleep for a few hours, maybe through the night with that sedative."

"Thanks," Ellen sat back down at Dean's bedside. She knew Dean wanted to be with Sam, but she felt comfortable knowing that her friend Marcus was looking after Sam in the Medical unit until Dean could take back his job at his brother's side.

**Meanwhile, Stillwater Center, Sam's Room**

"Hi Sam," Dr. Winters spoke casually to his young patient. He watched Sam's silent features and studied the rise of his chest with a click of the ventilator and lowered with a swishing whoosh from the machine. His patient had lapsed into a coma over four days ago and still hadn't shown any signs that he was coming out of it. "I know you'd rather have your brother here, but he can't be right now. He's a little under the weather, but I spoke to his doctor and he said he's doing much better. He woke up today and asked about you. His doctor said he's resting now and that's the best thing for him. Look," he reached up and placed his hand on Sam's forearm. "You have to keep improving, okay? If you get worse on my watch Dean will chew me a new one," he said with a wry grin. "That brother of yours is a regular pit bull." He reached up a touched at his bruised jaw and spilt lip. "I've got the battle wounds to prove it when I tried to pull him away from you. I'm not sure you're hearing me at all kiddo, but I just wanted to stop by before I head out for the night. And, I wanted to make sure you knew that if Dean could be here right now he would. It's time you woke up Sam." The doctor lowered his head for a moment and looked back up studying Sam's silent face. "Dean needs you." He said simply. "I'll see you tomorrow. Be good for the staff tonight, okay? Sleep well." He patted Sam's arm and left.

Words filtered in from a distance as if on some kind of delayed relay and were more like white noise, but when he concentrated Sam could hear some words. He stood looking out the window at the dark landscape. He placed his hand on the cold window glass and listened to the words buried in the white noise coming from outside.

…_I know you'd rather …have …brother …but can't …here right now…_

The fragmented words piled on top of one another and he fought to piece them together.

…_He's under…weather…spoke…his doctor …time you woke up…Dean needs you…_

The fragments began to coalescence in his mind and as he put them together he knew one terrible truth and it scared him. Dean was hurt or sick and his brother needed him. He turned around abruptly in a panic as he scanned the relatively empty room. He needed a way out, but he had no clue. He paced in frustration. "Dean?" he spoke the name out loud and he watched the white-gray walls seem to waiver, but he remained. He looked around desperately needing to leave this place. The words he'd heard earlier from a voice not his brother's grasped him once again, _Dean needs you_. Sam felt hot tears sting his eyes in fear and frustration. "Dean, please," his voice shook as he begged and the walls were gone. Sam opened his eyes.

**Meanwhile, Stanton Memorial Hospital, Dean's CICU Room**

Ellen watched Dean sleep. She had left word at the Roadhouse that she'd be back later, but she wanted to sit with Dean for a while. She was thankful the sedative still had Dean deeply unconscious. It was a relief to see the stress lines he frequently had relaxed leaving him looking like a young boy despite turning twenty-nine earlier this year. She looked down at Dean's hospital ID bracelet on his wrist and shook her head, it was hard to believe he was born in 1979; he looked just like a boy while he slept with the help of the sedative.

"Rest Dean," she whispered and placed her hand gently on his arm.

**Meanwhile, Stillwater Center, Sam's Room**

Sam fought the intubation tube, but found his hands gently restrained by a nurse that happened to be in the room taking his vitals when he awoke abruptly. "Shh, it's okay," she urged. "Relax, I'll call Dr. Nish." Sam focused on her with wild eyes and he found himself searching for Dean, although part of his mind knew why he wasn't there.

"Sam, welcome back," Dr. Nish appeared in his line of sight. "I'm giving you something to relax you, okay? You gave us quite a scare. It's okay, you're going to be fine" he attempted to soothe. Sam stopped fighting against the tube down his throat and his eyes drifted closed as the mild sedative began to pull him under. Dr. Nish watched Sam fall back asleep and nodded approvingly as his patients vitals regulated from the anxiety upon waking. "Please, call Dr. Winters and tell him Sam woke up. I'm going to extubate him," he commented as he looked at the ventilator settings and Sam's tidal volumes. "He's triggering the vent, so he has spontaneous respirations and his volume looks good." The nurse nodded and moved to assist the doctor.

**Two Hours Later, Sam's Room**

Sam opened his eyes slowly still feeling a bit foggy and immediately recognized the lack of intrusion in his throat. He tasted something funny in the back of his throat and smacked his lips in response. "It's just an anesthetic Dr. Nish sprayed on the back of your throat to help with the discomfort of having the tube removed. It tastes kinda bad." Sam focused on the voice and turned his head. He focused on the face of Dr. Winters. His mind was still sorting through the haze of the mild sedative. He started to clear his throat, "Here, your throat is dry. Take slow sips." He felt a cup pressed to his mouth and drank a little of the cool water the doctor was providing him.

"Thanks," he whispered against the rawness of his throat. His eyes continued to rove around his room. "Where's Dean?" He knew something was off and he could almost grasp what it was, but it slipped away. He studied the doctor and something clicked. "Your voice," he began rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. "Were you talking to me?" The doctor smiled.

"You did hear me a little, huh?"

"I guess. Did you say something about Dean? He's okay, right?" Sam saw the doctor glance nervously at his monitors looking for a warning of some sort. "I'm not going to lose it," Sam assured quietly. "Where's my brother?"

"Dean's going to be fine." Dr. Winters assured. "He's just been burning the candle at both ends and stress sort of put him on his back … literally." Sam cast a worried glance toward the doctor. "I checked in on him Sam. He's okay … he's resting. He's at Stanton Memorial."

"Hospital? How bad is he really?"

"Sam, I said he's fine and I don't want you upsetting yourself."

"Not knowing how my brother is doing _exactly_ is what is upsetting me. I'm fine. Do you see me freaking out?"

"No," the doctor conceded. "But, I think the sedative is still playing a role in your calmness."

"Maybe," Sam relented. "But, I want to know how he is."

The doctor filled Sam in on Dean's collapse and his cardiac stress induced arrhythmia. Dr. Winters was pleased that although Sam appeared very concerned over his sibling he was remaining calm and hadn't had one episode of outbursts or panic attacks. He knew it may be fleeting, but perhaps Sam had turned a corner he'd have to see.

**The Next Day, Dean's CICU Room, Morning **

Dean came to slowly from his medicated sleep. His vision was unfocussed and fuzzy. He blinked lazily and rubbed his eyes with a hand. He heard hushed voices and turned his head to see unclear dark images standing just outside his doorway. His vision cleared and he saw Ellen speaking with Marcus Winters. He tried to hear what they were saying and it wasn't until he heard his brother's name spoken that he opened his mouth. "What about Sammy?" His voice croaked. Ellen and Marcus both turned suddenly and obviously surprised to hear Dean's voice.

"Dean," Ellen spoke first. "You're awake."

"I asked you both a question," Dean's tone serious. "What about Sammy? Is he okay?"

"Dean," Dr. Winters voice was firm. "Remain calm," he looked at the monitors as his Dean's vitals spiked. "Sam is fine. He's awake." Dean's vital almost immediately leveled off and the doctor smiled in relief.

"Awake? He's out of the coma?"

"Yes."

"And, he's okay?" he hesitated. "I mean … his brain. He's alright?"

"There's no sign of any brain damage. We actually were able to talk for a bit. He knows about you being in here and he sent a message," he said with a grin and blushed slightly. Dean looked at him oddly.

"Well? What did he say?" Dean asked. The doctor cleared his throat and looked at Ellen and then Dean.

"He said, _Get some sleep, bitch_," Marcus relayed. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Figures," he complained. "Geek boy stole my word." The doctor raised an eyebrow.

"Huh?"

"Never mind," Dean commented. "You seein' him today doc?"

"Yes, we're going to have a session while he's still in the Medical unit, and I expect he'll be able to be transferred back to his regular room in another day or two."

"When can I see him?"

"Dean." Ellen began. "You'll see him when you're able. You collapsed and you're in a cardiac intensive care unit. Has that not got through that thick, damn stubborn head of yours?"

"Ellen," he complained. He knew the woman was well meaning, but she was treading on thin ice when she started to get between him and his little brother. He took a calming breath. "I know where I am and I also know Sam needs me."

"But…"

"No," Dean countered. "Look I get that I put myself in here alright. And, I get that I can't run right back to the Center to see Sam. I have no intention in keeling over in front of him and sending him over the edge. He's my responsibility," he asserted. "And, I'm an adult. I'll see Sam when I say the time is right and the doc here says Sam can see me," he cast a glance at the doctor.

"When you're given the green light from your doctor Dean you can see Sam whenever you choose. I'm not keeping you boys apart again not like the last time. I still think for a while at least that his sessions should be with me, but eventually I'd like to have you sit in on them to be there for him. But, I assure you that I'll never ask you to stay away again." Dean offered the man a small smile and nodded.

"Fine," Ellen acquiesced to both men. "Sorry," she replied begrudgingly. "You're right. It's just I worry about you boys and …" her voice trailed off.

"I get it Ellen," Dean answered in a gentle tone. Ellen nodded.

**One Month Later, Stillwater Center, the Acute Wing**

"Hey Sammy," Dean smiled as he walked into the sunroom and found his brother sitting at a table in a far corner. Sam was looking out a window lost in thought. "Sammy?"

"Huh?" Sam was pulled from his thoughts. "Oh, hey," he offered a smile. Dean studied his brother's face and frowned.

"You look tired," he commented. "You sleepin' okay?"

"Yeah, my meds at night put me out," Sam replied casually. His life as of late had become a strict regimen of pills and therapy with Dr. Winters.

"So what's up?" Dean sat down and scooted the chair closer to his brother. "I ran into the doc on my way in here and he said your session went okay today."

"It's been a month since I got out of the Medical unit Dean," Sam began suddenly. "I know I've been in here nine months now, and you and the doc were both there when he told me about the demon and the ritual. You and he have been telling me some things, but as much as you tell me you leave out."

"Sammy, just take things slow," Dean encouraged.

"Slow? I'm in a mental institution Dean having daily therapy sessions and popping pills, how much slower do you want me to go?" Sam let out a slow frustrated sigh. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"The ritual banned the demon for a long time, right? Like a millennia or something?"

"Yeah, so?" Dean wasn't sure where his brother was going with this line of questioning.

"Nothing, it's just…" his voice trailed off. "I remember the cabin and Dad being possessed. I even remember you were pretty busted up afterward from that yellow-eyed bastard. I've had patchy memories of the car crash and the hospital. I remember talking to Dad about you and that we needed to find a way to help you, but it's fuzzy after that, and…"

"And, what?" Dean felt unease growing in his chest and Sam seemed to be jumping from one line of questioning to another.

"There's no demon to be hunting Dean, so where's Dad? And, don't feed me the '_he's hunting_' line of bullshit either. Dad may be guilty of screwed up priorities most of the time, but if the demon's out of commission for the long haul then where is he? Because I know he wouldn't stay away, especially with me locked up in here. Where is he?" Dean looked away and seemed content to stare at the tile pattern on the floor. "Dean?" Sam gauged his big brother and watched his jaw twitch with tension, and then he saw the unmistakable glisten in his brother's eyes and he felt his chest tighten. Sam knew without knowing and he didn't want to deal with it and he refused to break down since that was what they all seemed to expect here. He stood up abruptly and walked out of the sunroom.

It happened so quick that when Dean looked up Sam was already passing through the doorway to the hallway. "Crap," he hissed. "Sammy wait up." Dean caught up to his brother in the hall and gently reached out stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. Sam turned to face him and Dean saw the anger and anguish all mixed together.

"He's dead isn't he?" Sam's voice was a mere whisper. He sounded broken and lost. Dean took in a shaky breath.

"Yeah," he answered quietly.

"When?" Sam asked timidly.

"He died at the hospital Sammy. I came out of my coma in the middle of the night and he stopped in to see me in the morning, and when he left my room," his voice trailed off. "You found him collapsed on the floor in a room a couple doors down from my room. They tried to save him, but he was gone." Sam could see in his brother's eyes that Dean still missed their father fiercely. Sam's mind flickered memories like an old movie as images and voices filled his head. Dean watched Sam get this far off look in his eyes and knew his brother was remembering something.

"The demon," Sam began. Dean cast a worried glance up and down the hallway to make sure no one heard Sam talking about demons.

"Let's go in your room Sammy. This isn't a conversation for a hallway." Sam allowed himself to be led to his room. He felt in a fog.

"The demon killed him," Sam hurriedly spoke as Dean closed the door to his room. "A bargain of some sort, right? To make you better. To save you." Dean nodded solemnly. The whole idea of what his father had done never had set well with him, and he knew it never would. Sam wanted to be strong, but it was a fresh wound and for him his father had just died. His grief wasn't old and dulled from two years of adjusting. He still couldn't remember huge chunks and now his father was dead. "I picked a fight with him before…" his voice hiccupped and his eyes filled with unshed tears.

"Hey, hey," Dean reached out to comfort his brother. "Don't go there okay kiddo. Dad and you always butted heads. He knew you loved him, okay?" Sam wanted to believe his brother, but the loss seemed so complete. He began to tremble and the tears cascaded down his cheeks. Dean looked at his little brother and did the only thing instinct was commanding for him to do … he stepped over and pulled his sibling against his chest and wrapped his arms protectively around Sam and held him. He rubbed circles on Sam's back as his brother cried and trembled. "It's going to be okay kiddo," he wasn't sure it was the truth, but Sam needed to hear it as much as he did. "I got ya. Shh…" he cooed. "Sammy, it's okay."

Dean looked over at the door and for the first time realized that Dr. Winters was standing in the doorway, he hadn't even heard the door open. The doctor watching with a soft eyes that spoke volumes. Sam's legs began to buckle and Dean kept him standing as he helped Sam to his bed. Dr. Winters moved forward silently. Dean saw the syringe and simply nodded as the doctor injected the contents into Sam's IV port. Dean held his little brother until the crying tapered off and he felt Sam's head grow heavy on his shoulder. He lowered his sibling gently down onto his pillow and adjusted his arms comfortably to lie loosely across his chest. He pulled the blanket up and covered his brother.

"He'll rest," Dr. Winters spoke softly. "Now, how about you and I have a little chat," he smiled knowingly. "I think you need it kiddo." Dean nodded.

Dean ran a tentative hand gently through Sam's bangs assuring himself his brother was deeply asleep and left with the doctor.

**To Be Continued**

**Well, this chapter was a little longer than the last. I've been getting pretty busy the last couple weeks, so writing hasn't be too convenient, but I am making an effort to not keep you waiting very long. Now, I know I planned on having this story complete at chapter 10 which still needs written, and it may happen, but I'm thinking 11 or 12 chapters total will do it. I'll have to see. I'll try to finish this story completely before January. I should be able to get another chapter out by Christmas; I'll have to see how things go. At any rate, I hope you're still enjoying the story! And, thanks again to everyone who took the time to review a previous chapter or chapters. It's appreciated! Thank you and Happy Holidays.**


	10. It Can't Rain All the Time

Disclaimer: refer to chapter one

**NOTE TO READERS: **This chapter isn't very long, but I promised in the last chapter that I'd have something out before Christmas, so this is it. I've added a small note at the end of the chapter concerning the completion of this chapter story. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy this chapter, albeit relatively short. Thanks again.

**Side Note:** The title of this chapter was inspired by a line in the first "The Crow" movie starring the late Brandon Lee.

**Chapter Ten**

**It Can't Rain All the Time**

By Dawn Nyberg

"Dean I understand you want to take on as much of Sam's recovery process as possible, but you have to understand that as much progress as he makes each new memory comes with the danger of a setback, whether it is relatively small or vastly significant."

"He isn't having panic attacks anymore and he isn't having outbursts," Dean asserted.

"No," Marcus Winters agreed. "But, Sam is on a strict regimen of drug therapy to complement his sessions with me."

"So, you're saying Sam isn't Sam?" Dean accused with blazing eyes. "I'm getting the medicated to the gills Sam and without the pills…" his voice trailed off.

"All I'm saying Dean," the doctor began. "Is Sam has had some positive results from the medication, but you can expect setbacks."

"Was I wrong to tell him the truth about our Dad?" Dean turned worried eyes toward Marcus.

"No," he answered promptly. "Sam had already put two and two together and having put it off would most likely have triggered an episode. It's just you have to remember for your brother the grief is brand new and the loss very raw."

"I know," Dean lamented. "I was there in his room remember? I saw the tears, the pain. He was shaking." Dean dropped his eyes.

"Dean, what's going on with you? I know all of this has to be rough on you, too, and you're always willing to talk about Sam, but you never voice anything for yourself. Are _you _okay?"

"I'm fine. I can take care of myself," Dean's response sounded guarded and the doctor met his eyes and smiled gently.

"Dean, I'm not implying you can't take care of yourself, but you're not alone in this. You do have a support system if you'll accept it. You can bend my ear whenever you need to, in fact, I encourage it, after all, and it will ultimately help Sam if you're okay. And, you have Ellen."

"I'm…" The doctor interrupted him immediately.

"I know," he commented. "You're fine. But, you know what Dean you're always fine and you say it so much I don't even think it's a word anymore. How are you really?" And, there it was, finally after nine months of hiding behind an intricately built emotional wall, he saw the break in the mask. It was in Dean's eyes and it took the doctor's breath away. And, then Dean's voice spoke, small and almost child-like, nothing that said this young man was twenty-nine.

"I'm scared," the admission came with a bowed head and hands that folded in his lap. He saw the slight tremor shaking Dean's hands and he reached out dropping a comforting hand over the slightly shaking hands.

"Don't be scared Dean," Dean's eyes shot up. His mind rewinding back to his father's words and just for a second he felt his father there and in that brief moment he felt permission from deep within, and he lowered his head once again and let the tears come.

**Two Hours Later**

"Better?" Dr. Winters asked after finishing a long talk with Dean. He had voiced his concerns for Sam and his doubts that he was of any help to his little brother. Dean looked at Marcus. "See, talking isn't a bad thing. You can't keep these things bottled up Dean." The doctor commented.

"Doc," Dean began with a mild smirk. "I don't do therapy, so don't go getting' any ideas, okay?" The doctor chuckled and raised a single hand in surrender.

"Therapy? Who said anything about this being therapy," his voice was amused. "This here," he motioned between the two of them. "What we've been doing is just two guys having a chat." He gauged the young man in front of him and knew he'd managed to placate Dean enough.

"Yeah, okay," Dean hedged. There was a knock at the door to Dr. Winters office and a young aide poked her head inside.

"I'm sorry Dr. Winters, but Kendra asked me to hunt Mr. Winchester down." Dean swiveled out of his seat quickly and stood.

"What? Why? Is something wrong with my brother?" His eyes were urgent. She smiled reassuringly.

"No, he's fine. He woke up from his sedative and he was asking for you, so Kendra thought I should come get you." Dean nodded.

"Thanks, I'll be right there." She nodded and excused herself. "Do you need to come?" Dean turned and asked the doctor.

"No," Marcus Winters assured. "He wants to see you and not me. After all, we've had our mid-morning session already."

"Yeah, but you're still doing two therapy session a day, right?"

"Yes, I'll see him for a late afternoon session around 3:00." Dean nodded and turned to leave. "Dean?"

"Yeah?" He replied meeting the doctors eyes once again.

"You care to chat again this time tomorrow, maybe?" Dean looked at the doctor for a long extended moment.

"No head shrinking," he asserted. Marcus smiled. "I shouldn't bail on Sammy during a visit," Dean worried.

"Then don't," the doctor came up with a quick solution. "You usually head out around 4:00, so you can get ready for a night at the roadhouse," he started. "Why don't you swing by and chat on your way out. I'm here until 6:00 anyway, and I know Ellen doesn't open the doors until 7:00 anyway."

"Yeah, okay," Dean replied hesitantly.

"Good."

**Twenty Minutes Later, Sam's Room**

Dean sat next to his brother's bed and waited for Sam to break the silence. He let out a controlled sigh. "You disappointed?" Sam's asked suddenly and Dean jumped.

"Huh?" He looked at Sam perplexed. "Disappointed? What are you talking about Sammy?"

"In me?" his voice sounded so young and fragile.

"In you? No way!" Dean's voice was steadfast. "How could I be?"

"Because," Sam began hesitantly. "I've been a crazy person for nine months. I couldn't hack it. I'm weak…" Dean put a hand up stopping Sam's self berating episode.

"Okay, kiddo, you can hold up the wagon train right here. First thing I want to get through that thick Winchester head of yours is that you haven't been a crazy person. You understand me?" Dean's eyes were intense with conviction. "And Sammy, one thing you've never been and never will be is weak," his dropped a hand on his little brother's forearm and squeezed. "You're one of the strongest people I know. I'm proud of you. I always have been. I could never be disappointed in you. Now, are we clear?" Sam looked at Dean and offered up a slight smile that earned Dean a single dimple. _It's better than nothing_, he thought to himself. "I'm not hearin' anything?" Dean kidded. "Cat got your tongue?"

"We're clear," Sam's voice was quiet. He looked at his big brother for a long moment and suddenly chuckled.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Boy, for someone who hates a chick flick moment, man, that speech should earn an Oscar or something."

"Shut up," Dean groused as his cheeks flushed slightly at his brother's ribbing.

"It's the truth," Sam said with a grin pushing just a bit more.

"Yeah, okay," Dean began as he leaned back in the chair he was sitting in. "Oscar, huh? That goes with an acceptance speech, right?" He eyed Sam with a glint. "I'd like to thank the Academy, but most of all I'd like to thank my little brother Samantha, I fondly call bitch for being the one to force these chick flick moments. You know," he said with a smile. "After all, he is the drama queen of the family." Sam reached over and cuffed the side of Dean's head playfully. Dean tried to dodge the cuff, but failed.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

**Two Hours Later, the Sunroom**

"Full house," Sam replied with a snicker.

"Sonofabitch," Dean complained. "That's the third hand of poker you've won. You're cheating!" Dean said playfully. "You're hiding cards, right?"

"Where?" Sam laughed as he lifted his arms quickly deflating Dean's theory. After all, there wasn't much hiding room in a short sleeve t-shirt and drawstring pants. The center issue clothing for the Acute Unit. "You're just a lousy loser." A voice cleared near them and they both looked over.

"Hello boys," Dr. Winters replied. He was happy to see Dean and Sam actually having healthy interactions and obviously some much needed bonding time that included laughing. "It's just about that time Sam to come with me to my office." Dean looked at his watch.

"Man, already," Dean couldn't believe how quickly the time had flown. "I guess this is my cue to head out for the day then."

"You're welcome to stay if it's okay with Sam," Dr. Winters suggested. Sam looked at Dean and part of him wanted his big brother to stay, but there were still things he wasn't sure he wanted his brother to know he was feeling. And, he knew as he remembered more his brother always worried about everything.

"Sammy?" Dean looked at his brother.

"Dean," Sam began. "It's okay. I know you have to work tonight, so, it's okay. I'm good. Maybe another time?" Sam remembered what Dean had said about the roadhouse, Ellen and the rest of the roadhouse crew, but he still didn't have the memories of them at least not yet, although Dean told him they all knew each other pretty well. And, the roadhouse had become a good home base of sorts over the past two years.

"Sure thing Sammy," Dean replied quickly. He knew that his brother probably felt more at ease talking about something's without him there; after all, he'd feel the same way if their shoes were reversed. Dean walked with Sam and Dr. Winters as far as the medical offices and before he separated from Sam he felt compelled to hug his brother. He pulled his little brother into a quick impromptu hug.

"You okay?" Sam asked hesitantly as they separated from the quick hug.

"Yeah," Dean complained. "What? The sky needs to be falling or something for me to hug my brother?" Dean defended.

"Or something?" Sam replied with a smirk of amusement.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled.

"Gettin' soft in your old age," Sam mused. Dean just laughed.

"See you tomorrow Sammy, okay?"

"Yeah, bye." Dean started to go. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for earlier," Sam replied quietly. Dean looked confused for a second. "You know, I'd like to thank the academy…" Sam smiled. Dean grinned.

"Oh yeah," he replied. "Always told you I was an awesome brother. See ya tomorrow." Sam nodded sheepishly and turned toward the doctor as Dean walked away.

The doctor shook his head slightly. He had no idea what the two young brothers were talking about. But, that was nothing new … at times it seemed they spoke their own language to one another. Inside jokes, almost code like phrases. They may be four years apart in age, but they still managed to have some form of an almost twin speak between them. He felt a strong and protective desire to help them and to get them both back on track with their lives. It was obvious neither was complete without the other. It was clear that the Winchester brothers lived by the motto, _you go, we go_, and he was determined to see Sam through the forest in his head and to help Dean cope with the process of being left to wait for his little brother to find his way.

**To Be Continued**

**This chapter was a little on the short side, and probably didn't satisfy those needing a real angst fix or brother fluff moment, but I had promised to get something out before Christmas, so this is it. And, I'm determined to finish in one or two more chapters. I will be done before or on January 1, 2007 with this chapter story because I anticipate being tight on time after the start of the New Year, so fanfic writing may be going on a short hiatus for a month or two, and I don't want to leave readers hanging with something unfinished. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. And, as always I appreciate every comment and review you care to leave. I have made an effort to respond to every review I receive that I have a means of contacting the reviewer. So, to every reviewer that leaves no means of contact, I just wanted to say thanks to you, too! I appreciate it.**

**Have a safe and happy holiday!**


	11. The Progress of the Soul

Disclaimer: refer to chapter one

**NOTE TO READERS: **Well, all things must have an end they say. This is the last chapter to this story. I hope you enjoy it. I made the final chapter nice and long. Thanks so much for reading! I appreciate it more than you could know. I hope everyone that has reviewed or commented received either a personal email or review reply from me. I do try to reply to everyone that leaves me a means to contact you. Thanks again. Happy reading, I hope!

**Side Note:** The chapter title of this story comes from a piece of the same name by poet John Donne.

**Chapter Eleven**

**The Progress of the Soul**

By Dawn Nyberg

**Three Months Later**

Dean parked the Impala and sat in the parking lot. Something about this action seemed almost like a déjà vu from his days of arriving at the Stillwater Center, but now things weren't so bleak. Sam had made improvements in his tenth month at Stillwater and Dr. Winters found him ready to be transferred to an inpatient residential facility called Daybreak. Dean stared at the sign in its cheery white, yellow and blue colors. Their motto _Changing Lives, Creating Futures_ still made him shake his head. There was a time not that long ago he mused in his head that he would have laughed at the sign, but this place was helping his brother, and he couldn't bring himself to find something hokey about their motto. Dr. Winters still came for Sam's therapy sessions every day.

Dean walked down the hallway toward his brother's room. This facility was nothing like Stillwater. The windows weren't protected by metal grids, and although there was security to make sure patients didn't leave without permission … there was no buzzing into units. Dean saw that Sam's door was cracked and he knocked gently as he began to enter.

"Sammy?"

"Hey," Sam looked up and smiled. He was sitting in a stuffed chair by his window reading a book. He did that a lot lately Dean noticed. Sam often frequented the facility library, and Dean took note of his brother's reading material, _The Waste Land_. He frowned.

"The _Waste Land_?" Dean sat down across from his brother. "Doesn't sound too upbeat little brother," Dean prodded. "You okay?" Sam laughed. Dean studied his brother. He was trying to gauge him. There were still times he worried that Sam's reactions were a little off and that he was masking. He had been alarmed when weeks ago while Sam was still at Stillwater that his little brother had confessed to Dr. Winters that he was having thoughts of _giving up_, as Sam kept putting it, but Dean knew the translation, he knew it far too well. Sam was saying he was tired and that not _being _anymore was beginning to sound appealing. His little brother had rallied though, and had flourished once his mind began to get back on track. His memories had begun to return in patches.

"Dean?" Sam's voice pulled him from his thoughts. Dean looked at him. Sam smiled. "Here," he handed the book over to Dean. "No one can accuse you of being a literature buff that's for sure," Sam kidded. Dean took the book and his eyes landed on a random excerpt, _April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of dead land, mixing memory and desires, stirring…_he stopped reading and looked at his brother with a wrinkled nose. "Kinda like poetry or somethin' Samantha? I mean that's what it sounds like … that fluff stuff."

"Yeah, well maybe _Car and Driver_ isn't my idea of quality reading. And, this isn't fluff. It's a classic."

"In your geek genius world maybe," Dean mused. "So, you see the doc today already?" He shifted subjects quickly.

"Nah, not yet. It's Friday, so he comes a little later. He swings by on his way home from the center. I'm his last patient of the day." Dean nodded. "So, do you expect a busy night at the roadhouse?"

"Well, its Friday," Dean replied. "Usually Friday and Saturday's are the heaviest. They usually stop off for a couple days to plan another hunt, restock on ammunition and supplies. Oh, and let's not forget the braggers."

"Braggers?"

"Yeah, some of those old coots have some good stories, but I still think some of our stories blow theirs out of the water."

"Yeah, I bet they would." Sam studied Dean for a second. "Um, Dean?"

"Yeah?" He answered hesitantly. There was something about his brother's tone that seemed unsure.

"You know I was talking to the doc yesterday and he thinks I might be able to get released pretty soon."

"Yeah? He hadn't said anything to me. I know he said you were doing great with your self medicating routine with your pills, but he hadn't …" Sam interrupted his brother.

"Yeah, I asked him not to tell you."

"Why?" Dean turned confused and worried eyes toward his brother.

"It's just…" Sam took a breath. "I wasn't so sure I was ready, and I didn't want him to tell you and then I don't get released."

"Why don't you think you're ready?" Dean felt fear clutch at his heart. He worried that Sam was having troubling thoughts again or was having setbacks he wasn't aware were happening.

"You know I've been locked up for almost a year Dean. A year in some kind of mental facility or another. And, I still have my days, you know…"

"Yeah, I do, but we all have our days," Dean commented. "You've been doing great Sammy. You'll still keep having therapy with the doc and maybe you'll be able to go off your meds a lot sooner than you think."

"What about the roadhouse Dean? Ellen and the others?"

"What about them? Sammy, I know you sort of remember Ellen and the others now, so it's not like they're strangers, not really."

"But, they'll think I'm unstable, a cuckoo," Sam lamented and dropped his eyes. Dean let out a frustrated sigh.

"No they won't," Dean began. "Ellen, Jo and Ash have all been pulling for you. They ask for updates. Hell, Ellen was just saying the other day that it'll be nice to have you back around the place."

"But, what if…" Sam stared at his hands. "What if I freak out or something? I don't want to scare them or you." Dean reached out and dropped a hand on top of his brother's fidgeting hands.

"Hey," he said softly. Sam remained looking down. "Look at me Sammy," Dean urged gently. He watched his little brother raise those dark puppy eyes and he saw raw emotion there and it made his throat tighten. He cleared his voice trying to force the lump away. "You're not scaring anyone, okay? Yeah, I worry, but that's just because I want you to be okay in that freaky head of yours. And, you know what," he said with confidence. "You have a bad day, you have a bad day. It's gonna be okay. I don't want to force you to leave here, but I'm dyin' to have my kid brother back. If you truly need this place a little longer I can respect that Sam," Dean asserted. "But, only if it's because you really need it and you're not just afraid to leave."

"I'm that obvious?"

"No," Dean smiled warmly. "It's just you're my little brother I can read you better than anyone. And, I get how you're feeling, I do. I worried for a while that when you finally were released I'd do something wrong or upset you. I worried I wasn't going to be good enough at helping you Sammy."

"That's crazy," Sam looked at his brother with expressive eyes. Dean laughed.

"Yeah, well, maybe it seems that way to you, but not me. So, I guess we're in the same boat, eh? We're both worried about letting the other down. Maybe the only solution is that we get through this together and make our mistakes together. You and me Sam," Dean said with a glint in his eye. "We're what's left. We can do this." His voice was filled with strong conviction. "It's gonna be okay Sammy." Sam smiled and it was a genuine smile complete with two dimples and Dean felt his chest fill with something akin to joy.

"So," Sam began. "Are you still talking to the doc, too?"

"We don't _talk_ Sam," Dean corrected. "We shoot the breeze." Sam laughed.

"Yeah, okay," Sam relented with a knowing smile. "Well?"

"Yeah, me and the doc get together on Wednesdays at his office." Dean had continued to see Dr. Winters, but mostly the man helped Dean sort out his own thoughts and helped to make sense of the things Dean couldn't figure out on his own. "You know… we talk about the college football scores, stuff like that." He mused.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "Go Bucks," he said through a gentle laugh. Dean rolled his eyes. He knew his little brother wasn't stupid, and that Sam knew the truth of the situation.

**Two Weeks Later, Christmas Eve Day, December 2008**

"Here ya go Sammy," Dean popped the trunk of the Impala and pulled out Sam's small bag with a few clothing items in it that he used while at the Daybreak Center. Sam took the bag from his brother. Dean watched Sam look around the dusty lot the roadhouse sat on. "You remember it?"

"Yeah," Sam answered absently as some memories played in his mind as a montage. "Were we here in a mini-van once?"

"God," Dean groused. "Now, there's one memory I'd love to forget. I felt like a friggin' soccer Mom. Yeah," he commented. "When I was still rebuilding the Impala after the accident Bobby loaned it to us to use. You remember Bobby, right?" Sam nodded. "Any other memories coming to mind?"

"Ellen and Jo held us at gunpoint. Jo punched you in the nose," Sam said with a wry smile.

"Hey, that was a lucky shot," Dean defended. "Yeah, you're remembering the first time we all met. Anything else?"

"I remember Ellen being pissed at you about something." Dean laughed.

"Yeah, that narrows it down," Dean complained. "She's been pissed off at me more times than I can count."

"Somethin' about lying to her. I think we were on a hunt or something," Sam scrunched his face trying to access the memory a little more, but he couldn't grasp it in its completeness.

"Oh, yeah," Dean dropped his eyes. That was a while ago Sammy. Jo showed up on a hunt. Things went a little wrong. But, hey, all's well that ends well," he supplied. "And, anyway, I think Ellen's managed to reach many more levels of pissed off at me since then."

"She mad at me for anything, I don't remember?"

"You? Yeah, right," Dean snorted. "You could probably paint the roadhouse neon yellow and she'd hug you. You and Ellen never really have friction Sammy."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Dean replied. "Now, come on. I know they're inside waiting to see you. Ellen was excited you were going to be home for Christmas."

"Home?" Sam turned curious eyes toward his brother.

"Well, home for now at least … until I can find us our own place in town."

"In town?" Sam was confused. It sounded like Dean intended on staying for a while. And, _God forbid put roots down, a very un-like Dean thing to do_, he thought to himself. "What are you talkin' about Dean?"

"Later, kiddo," Dean smiled. "We'll talk later about some stuff, okay?"

"Yeah alright." Sam held back at the door to the roadhouse. He felt nervous seeing everyone again. He knew the last time any of them had seen him he had been writing on his and Dean's bedroom wall in blood, his own blood. He was worried they'd all think he was still that person. He felt a warm, comforting hand gently land between his shoulder blades and rub ever so gently.

"It's okay Sammy," Dean comforted. "No worries, okay?" Sam looked at his big brother and found strength in Dean's confident green-hazel eyes. Sam offered a tentative smile. "Ready?" Sam nodded.

Ellen leaned against the bar waiting. Jo and Ash both sat at the bar. The small group had been waiting the moment they had heard the rumble of the Impala pull up into the lot. The door creaked open and the afternoon light swept inside with both of the Winchester boys. Ellen smiled as Dean entered first with Sam close behind.

"Sam," Ellen spoke with a warm smile.

"Hi Sam," Jo replied.

"Dude, how's it hanging?" Ash waxed poetic.

"Ash, for God's sake," Ellen reprimanded.

"What?" He looked truly perplexed as he looked from Ellen back to Dean and Sam. "What?" Sam and Dean both smiled.

"Never mind," Ellen grumbled in Ash's direction. "Sam, sweetie," her voice was gentle as she tried to gauge how to approach him. She wanted to hug the kid, but she knew he wasn't ready for that. She knew that Sam remembered them, but that his memories were vague and didn't offer a concrete connection or trust, at least not yet. She'd wait. Sam was worth the wait.

"Hi Ellen," Sam replied quietly. "Hey Jo," he paused. "Ash," he said with a nod and a smile.

"Are you boy's hungry? I thought we'd have lunch together."

"Yeah, Ellen," Dean replied. "We haven't had any lunch yet." He looked at his little brother. "Does that sound okay Sammy? You hungry?"

"Yeah, but could I put my bag somewhere?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, come on," Dean motioned with his head. "I'll show you where we're bunking. We'll be back in a few Ellen."

"Take your time. The ribs are still on the grill in back."

"Thanks," Dean shared a look with Ellen and offered a small smile. She nodded.

**Later that Night, the Roadhouse**

Sam stared at the ceiling waiting for Dean to come back from his shower before turning off the lights. It had been a quiet evening. Ellen had kept the roadhouse closed for the holidays. There was a quick knock on the door as Dean entered still rubbing a towel against his damp head. He glanced at his little brother. "You still awake?"

"Yeah," Sam answered keeping his eyes on the ceiling. Dean moved around their room while still keeping Sam in his peripheral vision. Dean fell into his bed with a sigh and pulled the covers up. He watched his brother for a moment.

"You okay, Sammy?"

"I'm good."

"Really? Cause you've been pretty quiet today even with me."

"Nah, I'm good. It's just strange you know," Sam hedged. "Being back."

"You glad?"

"Yeah," Sam replied. Dean turned over in his bed to fully look at his sibling.

"You sound surprised," Dean offered.

"I am sort of," Sam answered honestly. "I wasn't sure how this was going to go … you know with me back here, but everyone seems okay with it."

"Told ya so," Dean answered confidently.

"Dean you said we'd talk later," Sam began. "What's this about moving into our own place? You don't want to go back to hunting?"

"Sammy, for starters you're still seeing the doc and being here is the right thing for now."

"But, Dean, I know you; you're going to go stir crazy after awhile. If you want to go we'll go. I'm okay." Dean looked at his brother with soft eyes.

"Things change Sammy," Dean replied. "Staying put hasn't been as bad as I thought it would be. When you were in the center I just got used to not hunting. It's not a big deal. There's no hurry Sam. Anyway, who says we can't hunt from a home base. Ellen has a friend in town that rents places. He's pretty cool, a weekend hunter, I guess you could call him. But anyway, he said he'd rent us a place in town at a deal. I wanted you to see it first before I told him we'd take it, but it's a two bedroom, one bath with a garage."

"Sounds good," Sam replied. "But, if you want to stay here Dean, I'd understand."

"Why would I? Sam I only stayed here at the roadhouse while you were in the center. I've been able to save some money while staying here."

"Money?"

"Yeah, Ellen pays me to tend bar and stuff, and tips, too. Of course, I've won a few hands of poker and games of pool. Hunters may be bad tippers, but they sure do toss away their dough for a card game or pool."

"When do you want to look at this place in town?"

"Fred, that's the guy's name, he said it's being cleaned and repainted, so it'll be ready in a couple weeks. The tenet only just moved out a few days ago."

"Oh, okay." Sam said glancing from the ceiling to his brother and back again.

"Good," Dean answered in a satisfied tone. There was a minute or two of silence when Sam spoke again.

"I feel sort of bad," Sam began. "Tomorrow's Christmas and I didn't get anyone anything."

"Sammy, no one expects it. It's not a big deal."

"Yeah, but I saw my name on a couple gifts," Sam commented.

"So? Just say thanks and leave it at that. Anyway, Ellen insisted." Dean offered.

"But, I don't even have anything for you Dean. And, you of all people should be gettin' something from me, after all I've put you through." Dean let out a frustrated sigh and sat up swinging his legs over the edge of his bed.

"Listen here kiddo," he started. "You're the one that's had the rough year. You've been going through a lot. I'm just on the sidelines. You haven't done anything to me. And, anyway, you did give me something this Christmas," he smiled and laid back down pulling the covers up once again. He leaned over and clicked the light off dropping the room into darkness except for the moonlight coming in through the window.

"Wait," Sam started. "I didn't give you anything. Dean?"

"Night Sammy," was Dean's simple response. Sam smiled as he recognized his big brother had backed himself into a chick flick mine field and was trying to close down shop as it were to escape the moment he had inadvertently set himself up for with his reply about Christmas. Sam was sure he knew where his brother was headed with his train of thought and decided with a smile to push for a response.

"Come on Dean," Sam urged. "What did I give you?"

"Dammit," Dean grumbled under his breath. He knew he wasn't getting out of this one. Sam was silently laughing in the dark. "You, alright," Dean complained. "Getting you back … are you happy now?" His tone was a mixture of complete embarrassment and frustration. Sam let a snicker slip, and was quickly met with his brother's pillow in his face.

"Hey!" Sam feigned irritation. Sam hurled the pillow back at his brother. The room was quiet for a moment. "Night Dean."

"Night Sammy."

**One Month Later, Dean and Sam's Apartment**

It was late afternoon and Sam had run down to the store to pick up some things they needed. The grocery was just around the corner and today he had insisted on going by himself. He'd felt on a short leash with Dean since his release from both Stillwater and Daybreak. He'd been going to the center twice a week to meet with Dr. Winters and he worked at the roadhouse and had been helping Ash put together hunting profiles for other hunters when they requested the work.

Dean sat on the closed toilet lid in the bathroom with the door shut feeling guilty as he looked over all of Sam's med bottles. He sat counting the pills in each bottle to see if Sam was taking the meds as prescribed. Some meds were as needed, but one was an every day med until the doc felt Sam could be weaned off of it. Sam had a prescription for anti-anxiety, Valium 2mg (half tab dose), for insomnia he had Ambien 5mg, and every day he had to take an antidepressant Wellbutrin SR 75 mg. Sam had been taking an antipsychotic drug while in the center, but had been weaned off of it before transferring to the Daybreak Center. "I'm back!" echoed from the front room of their apartment as Sam came back from the store.

Dean hurried and finished counting the tabs of Sam's antidepressant prescription. His count matched what should be in the vial. He felt guilty, but smiled that his little brother was taking his meds. "Dean? You here?"

"Yeah, Samantha," he called from inside the bathroom. "Can't a guy take a leak in peace," he complained.

"Yeah, yeah," Sam groused. "You wanna help with some of this crap."

"I'm comin'" Dean yelled through the door as he put the vials back the way he'd found them in the medicine cabinet. "Keep your panties on dude."

**One week Later, the Roadhouse**

"Damn winter storms," Ellen complained as she walked through the swinging door from the kitchen to the bar. There had been an ice storm over night that rendered most of the county in the dark, but the electricity was slowing come back up as the crews fixed a handful of transformers. They expected everything to be back online by early evening. The roadhouse had been lucky and its power was back up, but the power company had warned of possible short term outages and power fluctuations as other areas were repaired. "Sam sweetie do you think you could do me a big favor?"

"Sure," Sam replied as he looked up from the laptop he was working on. "What is it?" He stood up and walked toward her.

"I usually have Dean do this, but since he's in Randolph picking up those six cases of beer that the driver couldn't deliver … something about frozen fuel lines, anyway," she said with a smile. "There was a shipment of dry goods I keep in the cellar and Dean usually gets them out of the boxes and double checks them on my inventory list and then puts them on the shelving down there and I grab as needed. Could you check them in for me and put them on the shelves. It's only three boxes. You'll probably be done in twenty minutes. I'd do it myself, but I'm swamped in projects to get done before the doors open tonight, and believe hunters are like postal workers, through rain, sleet, snow, ice … blah, blah," she laughed.

"Yeah, sure." Sam headed for the cellar.

"Sam," Ellen's voice stopped him. "There's a light switch just inside the door to the cellar it'll get you down the stairs and then the switch for the cellar is on your left at the bottom."

"Okay, thanks."

**Ten Minutes Later, the Cellar**

Sam had checked the inventory list and was finishing up the last box and putting things in their places on the labeled shelving when the lights went out. It startled him, but the electricity had been hodgepodge at best today. He was thankful for the wireless and cable access for the computers. "Damn power," Sam muttered. He had closed the cellar door behind himself on the way down and now he was plunged into complete darkness. "No flashlight of course," he muttered to himself. "Idiot," he hissed as he tried to feel his way around the large open room. He felt along the shelving toward the direction he remembered the stairwell was located. He didn't get far before the electricity hummed back on and the solitary 60-watt bulb lit up, but the power dipped and the bulb flickered ominously as the power waxed and waned.

Sam felt a cold sweat prick up on his back and chest. His chest constricted in abject fear. There was a rational part of his brain telling him there wasn't anything to fear, but terror won out. He wanted to move to call out, but he was paralyzed in the spot he was standing. He felt his body begin to shake. "Nononono," he began to whisper over and over. The solitary light continued to flicker and the shadows of the room in Sam's mind began to morph into dark swirling mist and cloaked figures and his mind shifted to a buried memory. A memory his mind had desperately tried to block, but now there was no stopping the images, the sounds that invaded Sam's mind and consciousness. He collapsed to his hands and knees as the onslaught took him over. His mind returned to the final moments, the final words of the ritual, and the horrible truth of what happened as the Demon was banished back to hell.

_Sam repeated the beginning of the mantra once again before continuing: "I have become one with everything. I have become one with you," he took a step toward the demon, as if, declaring this would end now, tonight, "I become everything." The demon hissed and tried to push into Sam's mind breaking his resolve. Sam's eyes narrowed and he spoke: "Therefore, I become nothing. Therefore, you are nothing," the demon focused on Sam and his face twisted in pain. His brain felt as though a hot poker was digging around in his grey matter peeling and twisting the layers. He grunted and continued: "Without my anger you have no substance. Without my pride you have no form." _

_There was a howling hot wind that reeked of sulfur and the demon spoke, "You won't win! You have no power. You'll lose yourself. I will win." he hissed. Sam leveled his gaze on the demon and smiled as he finished the mantra. _

"_Without my hate you have no being," Sam panted out as he felt his mind slip into an abyss within himself. The demon let out a loud scream as he dissolved into a black swirling mist disappearing into a hot vortex of fire._

_But, as the vortex claimed one of its own the demon clung to Sam's mind dragging his consciousness down to hell with him. He wouldn't be able to keep the boy there, but he could show him wonderful, terrible things to keep as parting gifts, things to haunt him and eat him up from within. The smell was over powering with the stench of sulfur. The air was thick with heat as he passed through a chasm. The sounds were the stuff of nightmares. Screams of agony resonated in his chest and rattled his ribs they were so loud. Sounds of crying and torture rang out with their non-stop litany of hopelessness. And, when the decent stopped suddenly and violently he looked around. _

_He felt the demon near and felt his voice hiss at the back of his neck. "Family reunions are always so touching," the demon cooed. And that's when Sam saw him, and their eyes met for the first time in two years. _

"_Dad?" he choked out. John looked tired his eyes unsure of what they were seeing. It wouldn't be the first time they had tortured him with visions of one or both of his boys. Sam stared at his father who stood tied to wooden pole with his arms outstretched at his sides, a human scarecrow. "Dad?" his voice broke as he stumbled forward. It wasn't until John felt his youngest son's shaking hand touch his face tenderly and with no malice that he knew this was his Sammy._

"_God, please, no," John begged. "Not you Sammy. Please…" his voice grew thin as he looked at his son with tear filled eyes. _

"_I gotta get you out of here," Sam pleaded, but he saw nothing that held his father in place on the wooden pole. He realized in this place demonic power alone could hold you bound at will._

"_No," John implored. "Why are you here, dammit?"_

"_A ritual," Sam scrunched his face as he felt a pull within his own mind. "I…" He shook his head trying to clear it._

"_Times almost up," the demon sauntered over and looked at father and son. _

"_No," Sam panted. His mind felt as if it were ripping apart. "No!" He fought to stay at his father's side._

"_What have you done?" John demanded._

"_Dad," Sam fought to focus. "I banished the bastard." John looked at the demon._

"_A small setback," the demon assured. "Where I fall, others will rise. Banishment isn't forever."_

"_Sammy?" John turned soft eyes toward him. "You and your brother… you're okay?" Sam nodded. The pain in his head too great to answer his father out loud. John knew of the ritual that Sam must have chosen to use and he looked sad. "I never wanted this for you Sammy. I'm so sorry." John threw his head back and screamed in pain as the demon invaded his senses. Sam watched in horror as multiple, bleeding wounds opened in large slashes as if his father were being cut or whipped and they'd heal almost instantly only to be opened again. It was eternal pain and suffering without the release of death. This was hell and this had been his father's bargain two years ago after the accident._

"_Stop!" Sam screamed. But, it was too late and he felt himself pulled from this place and his broken mind return to his body curled in a fetal position rocking in a field. The last thing Sam saw was his father's tear- filled eyes edged with sadness and pain. And, the last thing Sam heard was his father's screams of agony and all was gone._

Sam curled into himself on the cold floor of the cellar rocking as silent tears seeped from the corners of his eyes. The memory of what had happened in its entirety during the ritual finally coming to light. His heart hammered against his sternum until pain flared across his chest as if a molten searing heat burned him from the inside and his breathing came in shallow, rapid gasps. He felt his world dimming on the edges and as the light bulb bloomed to full strength and no longer flickered he succumbed to a welcoming darkness and lost consciousness.

**Thirty Minutes later**

Ellen looked up as Jo and Ash came back from a quick trip to town to pick up some items for the roadhouse. "Hey Mom," Jo said as she put a box of kitchen supplies down on the bar.

"Hey," Ellen slid the box toward her. Ask dropped some items next to the box. He glanced around noting the abandoned laptop.

"Where's Sam? You got him running around too?" Ellen looked up from the box. She glanced at the clock.

"Oh, I forgot about the boy," she chastised herself. "He was doing some inventory in the cellar. He went down almost an hour ago. I better go check on him."

"Man, Ellen," Ash commented. "I thought you liked Sam. That cellar is the eighth chasm of Hell," he groused.

"Just because the cellar gives you the creeps," Ellen retorted. Ellen left her daughter and Ash in the bar area and went into the kitchen and opened the door to the cellar. The lights were on, so she followed them to the bottom of the staircase. She was talking before she hit the bottom. "Sam, sweetie," her voice called out. "What are you doing down …" her voice died off as she hit the bottom and saw Sam lying unconscious on the floor. "Oh God, no," she ran to Sam's unmoving form. He was curled up and pale. She touched his face, cool and clammy. "Sam," she ran a hand through his hair nervously. She dropped her head against his chest and listened, hope flared in her chest when she heard Sam's heart beating rapidly. She watched the stunted rise and fall of his chest and lurched back toward the staircase.

"Jo! Ash!" she heard the footfalls on the wood flooring of the kitchen.

"Mom?" Jo's voice sounded alarmed. Ellen moved to the staircase quickly. Jo met her mother's eyes.

"Jo call an ambulance, now!" she commanded. "Sam's unconscious and won't wake up. Tell them his heart is racing and he's having trouble breathing. You and Ash wait for the paramedics up there."

"Mom?" Jo seemed stuck in place on sensory overload.

"Do it now Joanna Beth!" And Ellen disappeared back to Sam. "Sam," she held his head in her hands trying to rouse him. She surveyed him for wounds and saw none. "Oh, honey what happened?" Her fear was ratcheting up as the minutes passed. "Sam Winchester don't you do this," she ordered. "Wake up. Open your eyes." Sam didn't move. She placed a hand on his chest and could feel his heart pounding against his flesh. His breathing was erratic and she feared that it may stop all together.

"Mom," Jo shouted as she ran half way down the stairs, "They're on the way."

"Jo Beth call Marcus," Ellen ordered. "His number is under the bar in my personal numbers. Tell him that Sam has collapsed and that the paramedics are coming. I want him to meet us in the ER at Stanton. Try him at Stillwater first. He's probably there. He's should be available for the doctors and Sam." Jo knew better than to ask any questions she simply nodded and ran back up the stairs.

**Ten Minutes Later**

Sam was being loaded in a waiting ambulance. He was hooked to a heart monitor and an oxygen mask covered his mouth and nose. The medics had already started an IV line and were running fluids. "You'll have to follow us ma'am," the medic answered as they prepared to close the doors. Ellen nodded as she took one last look at Sam.

"You stay here," she ordered Jo and Ash. "Dammit, get my cell," she yelled. "I have to call Dean."

**Thirty Minutes Later, Stanton Memorial Emergency Room**

Ellen sat in the waiting room. She split her time between watching the ER trauma room door and the entrance. She had called Dean and luckily he was already on his way back, and she expected him any time. Marcus was inside with Sam's doctors and she waited to hear what was happening. She heard the entrance doors slide open as their automatic sensors were tripped. Dean came running inside. She watched him search frantically with his eyes. She stood up quickly and he found her immediately. "Ellen, where's Sam?" He commanded urgently. "He's still in with the doctors. Marcus is here. He'll be out when there's news."

Dean was pacing in tight abbreviated circles. "How long has he been in there?"

"Half hour," she answered solemnly.

"What the hell happened Ellen? He was fine when I left for Randolph."

"He was doing inventory for me," she started. "But, he was down stairs for a while, so I went to check on him. He was unconscious when I found him." Dean's eyes were blazing as he ran a nervous hand over his eyes.

"The cellar?" he stared at her. "You sent him down there?"

"He was okay with it Dean. I didn't…" she stopped abruptly when Dean leveled her with a glare. "No," she bounced back quickly. "You know damn well I'd never do anything to hurt that boy. He wasn't hurt Dean. I don't know what happened. Things were okay. The power went off and came back on, and the lights flickered for awhile after that, but it's been okay." Dean closed his eyes in realization.

"The lights were flickering?"

"Yeah, what…" her eyes grew wide as she remembered Dean telling her about Sam's panic attack at the center when the lights had flickered. "Dammit," she yelled to herself. "I didn't think Dean." Before they could continue the door to the trauma room Sam was taken into opened and Marcus Winters walked out. Dean and Ellen approached him quickly.

"How's Sam?" Dean demanded.

"Dean calm down," Dr. Winters encouraged.

"Cut the crap Marcus," Ellen spouted to her friend. "Tell us about Sam."

"The ER doctors have stabilized his heart rate and breathing …"

"He's breathing on his own, right?" Dean's eyes wide with concern.

"Yes," Marcus confirmed. "It appears he may have had an acute panic attack and passed out. His scans and blood tests have come up negative for any kind of neurological disturbance and his blood came back clean for infection or other problems. He's awake now," his voice trailed off.

"I hear a 'but' in there," Dean pushed. "Ellen said the electricity was flickering. I think that set Sammy off. What's wrong?"

"He's only minimally responsive to stimuli Dean. He's awake, but he's disengaged with his surroundings. I hope that will improve over the next few hours." Dean felt the bile creep up the back of his throat.

"Are you saying he might be like he was over a year ago? We're back to square one?"

"Not necessarily Dean," Dr. Winters corrected. "Look, now that I know about the flickering lights, it is probable that Sam was triggered and reacted. But, it is highly likely that it also sparked a memory of some sort, perhaps one that has had a huge impact on him and he's withdrawn. I'm having him admitted to the observation unit."

"No, Dean," hissed. "My brother isn't going back to a psych ward."

"Dean, I'm not having him admitted to the psych unit. It's the observation unit for patients that need monitoring, but don't require the level of care in the ICU." Dean visibly relaxed.

"What if he doesn't improve in the next few hours?" Ellen chimed in.

"If there is no sign that he is coming out this new disassociated episode it may become necessary to admit him back to Stillwater…"

"I don't want him back in there," Dean argued.

"Dean, I realize you want Sam with you and out from under medical care, but you and I both know that Sam's situation is a unique one, and the sooner he's either bouncing back from his current state or at least under my care the better off he'll be. We can't have him talking to their staff here about Demons and the like," he whispered under his breath. "Being readmitted is just a setback; it doesn't have to be a permanent situation. Let's play it by ear."

"Then transfer him now and observe him at the center," Dean commented. "You said yourself that he's stable and his scans and tests came back negative. So, get him the hell out of here."

"I thought you just said you didn't want him going back."

"I did, but at least if he starts talking or something and it involves our line of work at least I don't have to worry about him getting locked away forever." Dr. Winters nodded.

"I'll see about getting him released to my care, and I'll have a transfer from the center arranged with one of our transports."

**Two Weeks Later, Stillwater Center, the Acute Unit**

Dean walked toward the day room where they had told him they'd take Sam. He hadn't spoken at all, and even Dean hadn't been able to draw him back from wherever he had gone in his mind. Dean entered the room and saw they had put his brother in a soft chair along a distant wall. The sunlight was falling across Sam's lap as he stared off into nothing.

"Hey kiddo," Dean fought to keep his voice up beat. The first time he'd gone through this didn't seem as hard as this time. Now, Dean fought his emotions constantly. His brother had come back to him and now he seemed even further away than the first time. "Sammy," Dean started. "Um, everyone at the roadhouse says hi." He looked into Sam's blank face. He reached up and pushed his brother's long bangs out of his eyes. "Sammy, I'm here. Please, don't do this," he pleaded. "Whatever happened we can deal with it together, but you have to come back."

…_Sammy…please…_

Sam rocked violently back and forth as he sat against a wall as a distant voice filtered over him. The empty house was the same as he remembered, but not much remained. The table and chair were gone, the lamp had remained, but now it lay shattered and fragmented just like Sam's life. He had broken it when the bulb began to flicker. The book, he had looked for it frantically, but it was gone and he was alone. The voice he knew was Dean's broke through only now and again, but mostly he heard nothing beyond the voices torturing him as they always do in this place of gray-white walls. Voices from the hallway called out to him from behind closed doors, but he remained rocking. His mind caught in the maelstrom of memories left by his father and his eternal agony.

"Dean?" Dr. Winters' voice spoke softly from behind. Dean looked over his shoulder.

"No change," he replied softly.

"I'm afraid not. Dean," he began tentatively. "Sam has become more unresponsive over the last few days…"

"More? He's just like he was before," Dean accused. "How much more unresponsive can he get and still be like this?"

"He's beginning to show signs that he's slipping deeper into a more vegetative like state, but not," he hedged. "Sam is unique Dean."

"Vegetative?" Dean hissed under his breath. "I don't get it," his voice was angry. "His eyes are open, he's like before. It'll get better."

"Dean," Marcus sat down next to him and spoke softly. The dayroom was empty for a change as most of the residents were either at lunch or in the new activities room doing projects with activities staff. "Sam is worse than before. We need to put him in a wheel chair to get him from room to room, and lift him into bed when he's taken back. And, before when he was first here he could at least be led around."

"Just give him time," Dean's eyes glistened.

"Dean the IV's are no longer enough nourishment for him," the doctor began quietly. "I'd like permission to have a nasal gastric feeding tube put in, so he can be fed."

"No, I can get him to eat, I can," Dean pleaded.

"Dean, we've tried, you've tried. He needs the tube." Dean looked at him with begging eyes. "Fine, I'll have Kendra bring in something soft. Maybe some yogurt? But Dean…"

"I know," Dean snapped. "If he doesn't eat … I'll sign the consent, okay?" Dean's tone was angry.

**Ten Minutes Later**

"Please Sammy," Dean tried pushing the yogurt into his brother's mouth. It wasn't that he was refusing the food, he simply wasn't responding to its presence. He wouldn't take it from the spoon. "Sam, come on," Dean half begged, half commanded. "Dammit," he hissed. "Just eat," he shouted. He shook his head. "I'm sorry Sammy, I didn't mean to yell," he touched Sam's cheek softly and cupped it in his hand. "I'm not yelling at you, okay? Just the situation. Sorry," he stroked Sam's cheek with a thumb. He put the yogurt down with a shaking hand. He felt hot tears spring up and sting his eyes before he could get any real control over them. Silent tears ran freely down his cheeks as he looked at his little brother's vacant eyes that seemed completely lifeless. Sam was gone.

**Two Weeks Later, Stillwater Center**

Dean walked into Sam's room. They had him sitting up in a wheelchair by the window. Although, it had a metal grid covering it you could still see out to a quiet duck pond and the flower garden. He stared at his brother for long minutes. There was thin tubing taped to his face. It was the tail end if the feeding tube they had stowed away under the medical tape. He had an IV port they had him hooked to hydrate him and the feeding tube they used for his nutritional supplements delivered via liquid emulsions. "Hey Sammy." Dean reached for a small terrycloth towel and wiped the saliva running out of the corner of Sam's mouth. Dean stroked Sam's throat to stimulate his swallowing reflex and he swallowed in response. "That's my boy," Dean cooed softly. As his brother had become more vegetative he had begun to exhibit more difficulties and his swallowing had become an issue over the last few days. There was a knock at the door.

"I heard you were here," Dr. Winters replied as he entered.

"Yeah."

"Dean," the doctor began. "I wanted to discuss moving Sam to another unit in the center."

"Another unit?" Dean was confused. "What other unit?"

"Sam has been in this unit for a month Dean and he's only declined. There isn't anything I can do to get through to him. At least, before he would respond to some stimuli on a certain level, but now," he took a breath. He hated admitting defeat and the idea that he'd lost this battle had been keeping him nights ever since Sam's relapse.

"But … now what?" Dean accused.

"Now, all we are capable of giving him in this unit is palliative, daily care. This unit isn't the right one for anymore, not unless he comes back a little bit."

"Where?" was all Dean asked.

"I'd like to make arrangements to have him transferred to the LTC Unit. They are better equipped to handle his needs, and I'll remain his doctor of record of course and will oversee his care."

"LTC?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Long-term care unit," he supplied softly. Dean couldn't stop the bile rising in his throat and bolted from his chair and emptied his stomach in the small bathroom just inside Sam's room. "Easy," the doctor soothed as Dean collapsed back on his haunches from the toilet.

"I'm got it," Dean grumbled as he shimmied out from under the doctor's hand on his shoulder. "I'm fine."

"Don't pull that shit with Dean," the doctor replied suddenly. He had come to know Dean pretty well over the last year both when Sam was in the center and also when he continued to see Dean to talk. "You're not okay."

"Look don't go all touchy feely with me doc," Dean hissed. "I got it, okay? Sam's not gettin' better, right? Long-term care is where you stick people to die."

"Dean, you act as if he had a fatal disease. Sam is physically healthy, in terms of his body. The feeding tube is working well, but I'll admit that for the long term he may have to have a surgically implanted feeding tube in the future, but I'm not willing to entertain that idea just yet. It's his mind that's broken. And, he could still come out of this." Dean looked at him and wanted to believe. He shook his head slightly.

"But, you don't believe that, do you? You said yourself he's worse now than he was before." The doctor didn't know how to respond, and he knew there was nothing he could say to make it better. "Transfer him," Dean said softly as he stood up from the bathroom floor and returned to Sam's side.

"He'll get the best of care in that unit Dean. They can give him physical therapy to keep his muscles working since he isn't mobile. I promise I'll see him every day."

"You hear that Sammy," Dean gently touched his brother's face and stroked his cheek. "You're getting new digs." The doctor felt his heart swell at the sight of Dean and how he acted with his little brother.

…_Sammy…_

His brother's voice broke through for a second and part of him knew he wasn't alone on the other side of this place, but here that was all he had … complete aloneness.

…_God, please no…_

Sam heard his father's voice calling from down the hallway.

…_I never wanted this for you Sammy…_

"Dad?" Sam stopped rocking and looked down the hallway. "Dad, please," he stood up on shaky legs.

…_I never wanted this for you…_

His father's voice repeated again. Sam went in search of his father, but every door he tried only held an empty room behind it until he reached the last one and opened it. It was a dense woods with fall leaves browning into autumn, he stopped and listened.

…_You and your brother…you're okay…_

Sam plunged into the thicket in search of his father. He glanced back briefly at the door as it closed. He paused a moment knowing he would be locked away from his brother's voice and he hesitated.

…_Can we not fight…half the time we fight I don't even know what we're fighting about…_

And, with those words Sam turned and ran into the woods and away from the door and away from the reach of Dean's words. He caught himself on errant tree limbs as he ran past them. His father's voice was still fresh in his ears.

"Hey Sammy," his father's voice startled him and Sam spun around. His father was dressed in jeans and a gray t-shirt as he leaned against a tree with that warm smile Sam remembered, so well.

"Dad?" Sam took an unsteady step forward and stopped abruptly. His mind was fighting with rationality even in his befuddled mental state. "You're not here. You're not real," he accused. John stepped away from the tree.

"Well, I am," he replied bluntly.

"No, I remember where you are," Sam's eyes stung with hot tears at the visceral memory of his father's agony. "You're just a figment of my mind. You're not here," he choked out and took a step back. "You're with the demon, you're…"

"Sammy, son, please," John spoke softly. "You need to understand a few things," John began. "The soul and the spirit aren't the same thing, not really. And, as much as that yellow-eyed bastard would like to think he controls me … he only has dominion over my soul, but my spirit," he said with a grin, can go wherever the hell it wants to a certain degree and that demon can't stop me. I'm here." John stepped forward and pulled his youngest child to his chest and held him. Sam closed his eyes drawing in the scent of his father and cried.

**Meanwhile, Sam's room**

Dean watched Sam's eyes close slowly and his head dipped toward his chest. It didn't alarm Dean; after all, his brother would fall asleep fairly quickly and without much preamble. "I'll get an orderly to get him into bed." Dr. Winters spoke.

"No," Dean replied. "He's my brother. I got him. Dean bent down and slid his hand under his brother's knees and under his arms. Dean moved Sam's head against his shoulder and rested it in the crook of his neck. He grunted as he picked up his little brother. "Here we go Sammy. Up we go," he spoke softly. Dean placed Sam in his bed and covered him up as he adjusted him into a comfortable position.

"Dean I'll make arrangements for the transfer for later today. The sooner we get him settled the better it will be."

"Better, huh?" Dean's tone was lackluster and he simply sat down and took his brother's cool, slack hand in his own. "I'll be here," he said without looking back up to the doctor. The doctor excused himself and left the room to make arrangements.

**One Week Later, Sam's Room**

Dean sat watching Sam. He alternated between stroking his hand with a thumb as he held it to telling Sam's stories of when he was little. He studied his brother's silent features. He never thought that one week ago when he watched his brother close his eyes that he wouldn't open them again. Sam neurological response tests had only continued to degenerate. He had become less responsive to pain stimuli and each day his coma became more profound. He was able to breathe on his own; however, the doctor's in the Medical Unit had prescribed a nasal canula for oxygen supplements. When Sam hadn't woken Dr. Winters had become alarmed at Sam's sluggish pupil responses and had called in Dr. Nish, the neurologist that had previously cared for Sam. And, Sam had been transferred from the LTC Unit to the Medical Unit for acute care.

"Dean?" Dr. Winters poked his head into Sam's small room. Marcus looked at Dean and silently wished things weren't as they were. Dean looked tired and so much older than his years. "How are you?" He grabbed a chair and sat facing Dean.

"What'd the doc say about Sam's latest tests?" The doctor sighed. He wasn't surprised that the older sibling was overlooking himself. Dean studied the man's face and dropped his eyes and returned to watching his brother. "He's not waking up is he?"

"Dr. Nish has noted a decrease in brain activity, but Sam still maintains some activity spikes. But, Dean, his pupils are barely responding to light and Dr. Nish believes it's only a matter of time before he loses his gag reflex." Dean looked back at Marcus Winters.

"You mean they'll put a tube down his throat, right?"

"Yes, only to guarantee his airway Dean. Sam is breathing on his own just keep that in mind. Once his gag reflex goes we just need to insure he doesn't choke and aspirate into his lungs. It's a precaution."

"I get it," Dean's voice was angry.

"Dean, talk to me," the doctor urged.

"I got nothin' to say."

"Ellen told me you moved back to the roadhouse," he tried to push a conversation.

"No point in keeping the apartment. I stayed for a month after," he looked on Sam with agonized eyes. "I can't stay there…" his voice trailed off suddenly and his jaw twitched.

"Why can't you stay there?" He knew the answer, but wanted Dean to try and admit he couldn't stay there because his brother wasn't there.

"Look, I'm a big boy and I can take care of myself. I don't need my hand held. I just want to sit with Sammy for a while before I have to be at the roadhouse to cover the bar."

"Dean, I didn't mean," Marcus began.

"Just go," Dean mumbled. "I just want to be alone with my brother. Can't I just have that?"

"Sure," Marcus stood up. "If you need anything…"

"I won't," Dean interrupted the doctor before he could say another word.

"Fine, okay," he replied softly. He walked to the door and before he left he looked back at Dean who had resumed his vigil of holding his brother's hand and stroking his bangs. "It's okay to be angry Dean," he offered. "I'll stop in again tomorrow." Dean didn't look at the doctor or even acknowledge he'd heard his final comment. Marcus Winters left the room and closed the door behind him with a small click.

"It's just you and me again Sammy," Dean spoke softly. "Just the way it's supposed to be." He smiled at Sam's unruly bangs. "You know Dad would have a fit at how long your hair has grown. You used to drive him to distraction when you were little with that long hair." He laughed quietly. "I remember he tried to give you a short haircut once and you bobbed and weaved so much he thought he was going to lop of an earlobe, so he gave up. And, from then on you only had trims." The memory was warming and oddly soothing. Dean quieted and went back to watching his brother. Dean dropped his head for a moment whispering his brother's name, "Sammy."

…_Sammy…_

Sam thought he heard his brother's voice. His father smiled. "You hear him don't you?" Sam looked at his Dad. They sat beside a lake. It was a lake he remembered from childhood.

"Hear what?"

"Sam," John's voice wasn't reproachful, but it brooked no argument. "You heard Dean. You need to go back now Sammy."

"No," Sam turned away from his father. "This place is good. I'm out of that damn house and the voices are quiet here. And…" his voice trailed off for a moment as he turned back and looked and met his father's soft eyes. "And, you're here. There's no pain for you here."

"Sammy, son," John began softly. "This," he waved his hands around. "All of this," he continued. "It's not real. It's all in your head. My spirit is real, but this place isn't. My pain still exists, but Dean is alive because of the deal I made, and I have no regrets. This isn't your fault and there is nothing you could have done to prevent it. You've buried yourself so deep inside yourself Sam that you've almost completely slipped away from your brother. You've pushed memories away that you need to reclaim. I'm so sorry you had to see what you did. The stake, the pain, none of it is your doing. You need to let it go." John paused and reached out cupping the back of Sam's neck. It was a gentle and loving motion. "You need to let me go Sammy. Dean needs you more than you could imagine. You both need each other."

"Dad, I can't," Sam's lips trembled. "I…"

"You're scared, I know, but it's time Sammy. You've been here too long already. You need to open your eyes. There is nothing to fear," John touched the side of his young son's face and Sam flinched as images and voices filled his mind in rapid fire succession. Every lost memory came flooding back. Every moment bloomed to life in his mind and he staggered under their weight. "You were never meant to see me that day Sammy the demon wanted you to be haunted, but let it go. Let it go." He pulled Sam to himself and held his child.

"I remember everything," Sam sobbed. He remembered Dean's anger and grief after they lost their father. And every moment in the two years that followed that horrible day. They had made a life for themselves. He smiled as good memories made in the past two years cascaded over him like a warm soothing shower. "I don't want that empty house," Sam lamented.

"Then don't go back to it Sammy. It's just a prison your mind made for you to hide inside of anyway. You have your memories now. Reclaim your life and go back to Dean. He won't be able to handle losing you Sam. Let me go."

"But…"

"No, but, Sammy," John replied. "Letting go doesn't mean forgetting. I love you boys. I always have and I always will. Remember that always, but let me go."

…_Sammy…_

Sam turned his head toward the faint voice carried on the wind. "Dean needs you Sammy. Hell, even here buried deep he's breaking through. It's time to go home."

Sam understood _home_ was going back to Dean. His family. His big brother. Sam pulled his father into a strong hug. "I love you Dad," he choked. "I should have said it before. I wasted so much time picking fights, I…"

"Shh," John comforted his son. "You and me," he said softly. "We both made mistakes, but no matter what there was always love Sammy, always. It's time." Sam noticed the lake and the surrounding woodlands were slowly beginning to dissolve into a white void. The light was comforting and there was no fear.

"You'll be okay," Sam asked suddenly afraid he was abandoning his father. John gave that knowing smile Sam knew too well.

"I'm always okay, son. Open your eyes now Sammy." John urged. Sam reached for his father and pulled him into one last embrace.

"Bye Dad."

John stepped back and cupped the side of his youngest child's face. "You always favored your mother," he commented softly. "I'm proud of the man you've become Sammy." He leaned forward and whispered into his son's ear. Sam smiled and the white void claimed him.

**Meanwhile**

Dean held his brother's hand when he felt the slightest twitch. "Sammy?" Dean's voice was hopeful. He squeezed his brother's hand. "Sammy, can you hear me?" He thought his heart would beat out of his chest when he saw dark lashes flutter against milk pale skin. "Sammy, come on back. That's it," he encouraged. Lashes fluttered and then dark eyes opened slowly to settle on Dean's face.

Dean felt hot tears run unchecked down his cheeks. "Sammy?" He watched his little brother focus on his face. Sam squeezed his big brother's hand. "Please, Sammy," Dean urged.

"Dean," came out a mere whisper, but it was the most beautiful sound Dean thought he'd ever heard. He smiled down at his younger brother and ran a gentle hand through Sam's hair.

"Hey," he replied softly. "Long time no see kiddo." Sam smiled and Dean the weight on his soul lift. He pulled Sam up against himself and held him. "Missed you," he whispered into the crown of his little brother's head.

"Dean?"

"Yeah," he answered softly.

"Dad, says Hi," he whispered through his unused voice. Dean stared at him wide-eyed. Sam smiled weakly. "Oh, and he said to wax the car." Sam looked at Dean for a moment as his big brother sat in a state of stunned and confuse silence. "Missed you too," he whispered. Dean broke out of his silent stupor and held his brother close.

**Two Months Later, February 2009**

"Damn," Dean complained as he and Sam trudged out of the cold storage in the rear of the roadhouse each carrying a case of beer. It had been their fourth trip back and forth. "I got to start working out again."

"Well," Sam replied with a glint in his eyes. "You did turn thirty last month. You're not a spring chicken anymore," he mused.

"I'll show you spring chicken you little shit." He grunted as he put the heavy case down on the bar top. "I can still kick your ass," he grumbled. "You wait until we get back to the apartment later." Sam chuckled and raised his hands in surrender.

"I wouldn't want you to throw a hip out or anything," he replied. His dimples making an appearance as he smiled at his brother.

"Bitch," Dean complained.

"Boys," Ellen walked into the room having caught the last part of the playful banter. "Don't make me tan both your hides."

"Yes, ma'am," Sam and Dean answered in unison. Both siblings caught each other's eyes and smiled.

"Sam?" Ash strolled into the room.

"Yeah?"

"Can I borrow you for about an hour? I got a project I think you could help me with." Sam looked at Ellen.

"You boys finished bringing in the stock right?"

"Yeah," Sam answered.

"Then go," Ellen commented. "I've got Dean and Jo's around here somewhere."

Dean watched his brother go off with Ash and he couldn't help the smile that pulled at the edges of his mouth. Sam had opened his eyes two months ago and things had only improved every day. He had all his memories and there was no more lost time. He had the two missing years back.

Dr. Winters still spoke with Sam, but only twice a month and he had taken Sam off his meds a week ago. Life was good. When Dean had asked Sam later after he first woke about the message he said was from their father Sam only vaguely remembered saying anything, so Dean never pushed, and they never spoke of it again, but Dean believed their Dad had managed in some way to reach Sammy in a way he couldn't from the outside world. As Dean returned to stocking the bar his mind thought silently to itself, _Thanks Dad. _Dean heard Sam's laugh echo across the roadhouse from the back room. He smiled again. _Yeah, _he thought, _Life was good_.

**The End**

**Well, I hope you enjoyed this story and that the ending wasn't a letdown for everyone wanting a big angst ending. I promised to have it done on or before January 1, 2007 and I kept my promise. And, as mentioned in the previous chapter … I will be going on a hiatus for a bit. I anticipate having a pretty hectic schedule for a little while. I have two ideas for two more stories, but I'm going to have to let them percolate. I'll try to find time to write, but I won't be posting unless I have something complete and I can just update chapters at will. Otherwise, the waiting time between updates could be lengthy. At any rate, I just wanted to say that although I'll be on a writing hiatus doesn't mean I plan to quit fanfic. And, I'll be making time to at least read some fic.**

**Thanks so much to everyone who has taken the time to comment and/or review even one chapter of this story as it developed. I really do appreciate it. I hope you enjoyed the final installment to this fic.**

**Final Side Note: _The Waste Land_ was written by T.S. Eliot**

**Have a wonderful New Year! Be safe. Happy 2007.**


End file.
